strength comes in numbers; anyone

[Erebor]

We are at war. There will be scars.

He follows his mother because her travels often lead to something interesting.

He has no concept of needing protection, no fear, no desire to be sheltered. He is animated by the Chamber, his heart beats for the Chamber, he strives to be better – to be best – because she deserves nothing else. He is like steel, not yet fully tempered (he is still so young) but strong, so strong. Unflinching, brave, a heart of iron and a soul of steel.

He has never been to the Meadow before, but he picks out his mother's trail well enough. By the time he reaches the Meadow, she has already found someone to speak with. He watches the horse for a moment, seeing the wings, the horn, the undeniable mythical traits. This is his first time seeing another horse who is more than just equine, at least as far as he is aware, but he takes it in stride. He observes for just a moment longer than he otherwise might, but he observes with a distinct dispassion. He does not feel particularly about mythicals one way or the other. He does not fear them, he does not envy them, he simply accepts them as one would accept the weather. He accepts them as a fact, just as he accepts the new breeds of trees that ring the meadow, the strange blades of grass beneath his feet.

With no more delay he makes his away across the grass to join his mother and the stranger, walking with an unnatural grace for one so young. He is barely a few months old, but he is astonishingly precocious. He pushes himself impossibly hard, and he achieves impossibly much. He is entirely black, and will remain so throughout his life, never changing, never greying. He will be steady and constant, always ahead of the class, always serious by nature and charming by necessity. He will be a prince in the most classic sense of the word.

He halts gracefully beside his mother, but at the distance that one would expect from two unrelated horses who happen to be meeting in the meadow. He does not need her support, nor does he feel she needs his protection. He arrives just in time to hear Sheppard introduce himself, and his lips quirk upward ever so slightly at the stallion's question. "Why, for the company, of course." he answers, the ghost of a smile still playing on his young lips. "Either that, or for the bird chasing." He very clearly is not the kind of foal who chases birds. Clearly he's inherited the genes to be serious and hardworking from both his parents, because he has almost no childishness in his young body. "I'm Erebor." It might be incongruous, words like this from a not-even-yearling, but, well, that's Erebor.

Erebor

Native Prince of the Chamber

warship x straia