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For Sören, trance was...not unusual for him. He did not know all of its mysteries, or understand it all, but in its own way it was familiar. The scent of the incense that had clung to Ástríđr's clothing could never be disliked.

Most that sought out trance had done so already. He had done so himself. But in order to truly put the past behind him he knew he should examine himself in full. Seek out not the parts that could hurt him, he was long past that, but just to examine himself for who he was. To have a better understanding of himself. Maybe it was a waste of resources, wasting a priestess' time as she guided him...but...

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He was six. A bit dirty, the average filth of a foal that played without concern for his clothing. Ordinary dreary clothing, adorned with small scraps of fur that had come loose from his parents clothing, shreds that he wore as proudly as any of the other foals in the little herd he played with. The pride and joy was the actual bone button on his coat, one his dam had given him herself for his fifth birthday, pulling it off of her own clothing after a startled look at his sire when he mentioned the occasion. It was his treasure.

The other foals had already been called in by their families, growing dark as it was, the sub-zero temperatures of the isle dropping even lower the light vanished beyond the wall that surrounded the isle. But he knew if he wanted to he could still play. Practicing at skirting around buildings, watching as various clansmen came home from their duties. It was not a particularly nice part of the isle, but nor were they bad off. The spires in the area where he lived were not particularly tall, but no one wanted. No foal had to scrounge to eat, all of them were clothed. Those that did well tended to move, those that did poorly also tended to leave. But the majority stayed where they were. A mixture of Ashen soldiers and jewel-crafters.

Finally he returned home, slipping in quietly and tugging off his boots by the door. His sire did not notice him coming in late, he never did, the light pouring out from his workroom. He hung up his coat and went to go give himself a bath, a quick one, barely splashing the water about, not a proper scrubbing. Hair tangled and drying he started toward the kitchen, barely making a noise as he moved through their home. Then he heard it, the sound of his dam's voice. He perked up a bit, moving into the living room, the curtain in doorway to his sire's study pushed to one side. "We did good on this mission. I haven't had this much Fear in years. Makes a mare almost feel frisky again..." He could see her, behind his sire, hands kneading into his shoulders as he hunched at his work station. "Hm? That's nice. Nice. Did I tell you this is for a Priestess?" An actual hint of excitement from his sire's voice. All over the collar he was making for some priestess' precious little pet.

His dam seemed as impressed as he was as her hands dropped away, an annoyed snort escaping as she moved to the living room. She saw him and kept walking, moving toward the kitchen and he followed after her. As she reached for a mug she saw him. "You ate yet colt?" He stared up at her, wide-eyed, and shook his head. "Not since lunch."

She reached out a hand, lightly tousling his still damp hair, tangling it farther. As she did so he could feel the the Fear in her touch as she shared just a hint of what she had reaped with him. "There. That's all a soldier needs to go on. It'll make you strong. That oughta sate you for a bit, all this food is just extra. You gotta prove you're tough." She was getting out food and a single plate, serving up a meal. "Its a good lesson for you. Don't eat tonight, just enjoy that. Get to bed now."

He stared longingly at the bread she was slicing for a moment, but she had given him Fear. Fresh Fear. "Thank you, Dam. Good night," he whispered before turning and marching off to his room. Her good little soldier.

He sat down, staring at the apple, turning it over and over and looking for the tiny dents and flaws in the peel, marveling in how red it was. An apple just for him. Harder to get on the Isle of Death where no plants grew, a treat.

He was not expecting it to be snatched from his hands, the tail of a blonde braid passing through his vision. He scrambled to his feet quickly. "Give it back!" Now he saw who it was and he scowled. "Ástríđrrr" a bit of an angry whine creeping into his voice.

"So, what do you have here Soren?" She tossed it into the air. He scowled at her some more and she acted like she was going to take a bite out of it, jumping back just in time as he charged at her. "I said give it back!" A small giggle and then she tossed it back to him. "Relax Soren, I'm not just going to steal your treat from you." He eyed her warily, edging away. "But~" She was planning something. "If you share it with me I'll show you how to braid your hair. Then you won't get in trouble anymore at school."

"I don't care if I get in trouble," he muttered before realization dawned on him. "And I don't want filly hair either!"

"You can just braid your forelock then. Come on, just for half an apple~"

He glanced between her and the apple. "A fourth."

"A third."

He gave her a look before spitting on his hand and holding it out. "Shake on it."

"Ew. Gross. I am not touching that hand. A deal's a deal."

The next day he walked into class, forelock in a rather crude braid earning a snicker from one of the colts in his class. That colt got a punch in the shoulder before the teacher came in, and he wasn't sent out into the corridor for once. Maybe it had been worth part of his prized apple after all.