He had hardly heard his girlfriend come in that evening. Frost nestled within the depths of his room, their room, the young man seated at that desk in the far corner as his fingers flicked ideally across the pages of that book of accounts. He had struggled with numbers once, in his youth, the camp he had come from hardly seeing it necessity to teach horses to read or write let alone any real ability to perform mathematical sums. Why would they ever need them? An expandable beast of burden surely had no need for education and yet his Mother had persevered in the night, in the dark, when the patrols had finalised and silence ensnared that frozen wasteland that seemed to stretch on for mils. Where or how she had gotten those books he hardly knew and yet against those odds he had learned, slowly- to read. Once reading had been established he had taken it upon himself to teach himself those basics as best he could. He had always been intelligent and yet that education only furthered it- along with that innate desire to question the moral constructs of a society he had long ceased to bow down too. Wretched place. Wretched beings. Frost shoving those thoughts away with a disparaging snort before returning his attention to those accounts.

It was no small task to monitor so many accounts, both domestic and off shore and yet the stallion had a near methodical way or working, a meticulous focus that, perhaps, paralleled the way he was as a very being. His will near iron-clad when he set his mind to it. That determination both his greatest asset and his downfall all at once- let alone the very reason he surely clashed with even Alexander on those occasions he desired one thing and the Hunter asked another of him. Yet, somehow, the pair of men had near found a way to co-exist in a unison of sorts and against those odds. That age-old King and domineering stallion- both commanding by nature having managed, on most occasions, to achieve some sort of peace. Frost largely content to believe it was simply because Alexander asked rather than demanded. That man having an undeniable gift for persuasion that Frost near admired even if he hardly cared to admit to it.

It was that sudden realization of just how close Nadya was that seemed to strike him then. Those threads that connected them. That bound him to each of his pack members seemed to stir somewhere within the depths of those invisible confines. The white-haired man paused to glance towards the door, the faintest of sounds echoing from the living room below. He had not anticipated her home so soon. He knew where she had gone. After all, there was little he did not know and yet he had mad no effort to interfere with it. He had taken what he wanted from Tetradore, his interest in the man all but having waned to nothing and yet he saw little need not to allow Nadya those chances to remain connected with her family even if he knew the truth she refused to see. How fickle emotions could be. How blind they might render another. Nadya clinging to a desire for family that simply would not exist any longer with that previous pack and yet he hardly dissuaded her all the same. It would do little good. Her independence was akin to wildfire when she chose it to be. Frost inclined to admire that very trait within her even if it maddened him at times.

He rose from that table then, that chair pushed back as he strode across the room and out onto the landing, the man passing by Malia and Claire and Scarletts bedrooms as he did, the rest of the pack out this evening. Leaving Nadya and himself alone with her children. Frost having simple become used to them in every sense. A part of them man entierly willing to interact with them even if he feared bringing them harm somehow. Micah and Isabella affording him a chance of sorts to offer....something by way of parenting that his own children had been denied. He cross that kitchen easily, pausing in the doorway of the living room as his violet gaze lingered upon Nadya's feminine figure, those children asleep against her and yet it was the sound of those soft sobs that seemed to see him freeze, the tears staining her cheeks visible even from where he stood and yet it had been....years since he had seen another cry like this. Tears were simply not within the realm of anything the man remained comfortable with. Tears solved nothing. They were a weakness, a useless indulgence, nothing more than an outward expression of that grief- at least- such was what he had simply learned off the world and yet something within him was near....pained to see those tears from Nadya herself. It was an uncomfortable sensation, a heaviness resting within him that saw him step forward all the same, his feet scuffing against that ground to purposely make her aware of his presence. Frost moving to seat himself on the lounge beside her then, the man careful not to rouse those sleeping children. His gaze finding her own somewhere beneath that forelock of white hair. His voice entirely calm.

"What happened, Naja?"

He was careful in those moments that followed, to keep his mind from her own, the man content to have her tell him that tale alone and without the influences of her minds racing thoughts. Frost...hesitating for several moments still, that indecision surely clear upon him as the man seemed to struggle to decide how to...comfort the woman. Crying so far outside his knowledge on just what to do. His hand at last reaching to settle on her own, his fingers threading with her own in some effort, no matter how small, to display that care. Even despite that frequent intimacy they shared between those bedroom sheets that desire and lust and want for her physical body were emotions he had become more used to sharing. How to display that new level of care an emotion he was yet to master. The stallion, in the least, not unwilling to try.

f r o s t
we built this city on broken glass