Cleave has a home, but he is out of it more than he is in it.
The Taiga plays host to his siblings and his surrogate mother, but he feels no particular tie to the land and the pack that lives within it. It’s simply a land and he is too hungry, too curious about what lies beyond it to want to stay there for too long. It grows in him steadily until it blossoms, until it drives him out once more—this time it takes him west instead of east, his youthful hooves crossing across the borders of Loess until he finds the Pampas. He has no concept of kingdoms, not really, and is too arrogant even at such a young age to think that he would not be wanted in any land so he doesn’t hesitate before entering.
While there, he feels the familiar flames beginning to crawl along his flesh. They start small and stay close to him, simmering along his coat, before they erupt further, taking the familiar path along his spine until they reach his mane and tail. There, they overtake the crimson hair so that both become living fire, flickering in the air and then reaching down to embrace the black and the red of him.
When he sees the young girl, about his age, with the butterflies fluttering around her, it is enough to capture his attention—enough so that he cuts through the flowers and the grass to come to her side. His gaze is open and unreadable, his thoughts flickering in the endless depths of his red eyes.
“Who are you?” his voice is harsh, the question blunt, and he feels the fire as it grows a little more erratic, the edges of it spinning out. Beneath his hooves, the vegetation begins to smoke, the heat from his body increasing so that the flowers grow crisp and then wilting, turning to ash as they fall back to the earth.
@[brunhilde]