The wind whistles through the ravines and over their huddled bodies. Midas feels the cold fingertips play with the edges of his hair as he snuggles deeper into Sylvia’s pearly coat. He breathes in her scent – he feels her warmth, and he hears her heartbeat begin to match his.

He believes it is a dream, in some ways he hopes it is a dream. If it is simply just a fantasy, he could avoid the subject of leaving, of abandoning Sylvia and why. Somehow saying ‘chasing after a mare I thought I loved more than you’ doesn’t sit well in Midas’s imagination. Rather in his dreams, he imagines they are happy and that no problems exist between them and that nothing stands in their way of being as close, or closer than they once were.

But this is reality, and how can things ever be the same?

Her silky voice is what convinces Midas to open his eyes. When he does, he realizes he is staring into her blue ones and that is no dream. His fantasy is shattered. What she says sends shivers down his spine. Once again Midas curses himself for being just like Tarrant, for being a man with no honor. He doesn’t speak back – there is nothing he can say, nothing to refute the truth in Sylvia’s words. He had left her behind – but in leaving he had realized she was worth coming back for. He expects her to get up, to walk away. She’s probably moved on anyway. Who would have thought they would be here together years later, in the ridge, laying side by side after their home had been torn to sunders? And to imagine she is not with someone else? Preposterous, she was gorgeous; stallions were probably gobbling her up the moment Midas swam away.

Are the ghosts of this land so cruel to them both, that they must face each other and tear themselves apart from regret, anger, and change?

Midas turns his face away, staring at her rounded hindquarters and down her spindly legs – a form he once knew so well that he could see if even a knick or scrape was new on her spotless body. He had dreamed of the day he would get to touch it again, of the day when he would once again hold her against his chest as the storms around the harbor raged outside.

He is not so foolish as to believe his fantasies could ever become a reality. Even if he wanted it – she could never forgive him – she was too good for such a man.

He traces her croup with his muzzle, his whiskers delighting in the feeling of her soft fur. He can’t bring his golden eyes back to hers to see the pain, anger, and hatred that probably dwelled within them. He can’t imagine what that will do to his shriveling heart. He finally breaths and gathers more courage than he ever needed on a battle field and turns his head towards hers again, his eyes still cast downward, “"I…” He begins in a broken rasp, his mind searching for the words and realizing there were none. Nothing he could say could make his actions ok.

She buries herself in his cream locks and Midas’s face tenses in surprise, his eyes widen and then close again. His face relaxes. "I don’t deserve you.” He sighs, amazed by the mare’s willingness to forgive. It doesn’t change the fact that nothing is the same, and that most likely she will leave him, but at least he has her for the night.

As she speaks again, Midas feels jealousy rise again in his throat, and though he tries to swallow it, his shortcomings get the best of him. "Really? he rumbles. He tries to stop himself but the words come out before he can, "From the smell of you, you’ve not been alone.” He pulls his head away, and begins to pull his body from hers. He shouldn’t have said it; he knows he has no right to be jealous, no right to expect monogamy from a mare when he had left without warning…without a goodbye. But here was the giant green monster raising its head. Here were Midas’s shortcomings all in plain sight. He is not perfect, gallant, or kingly, and he is nothing but a man.

But maybe, if anyone can forgive such a broken creature, it will be Sylvia.