The golden king lives his life through moments of happiness. Through the dredge and soil of unhappiness, there are days that make the struggle worthwhile. Being with Sylvia, in the rain, on the summits of the peak, made it all worthwhile.

Shivers electrify across skin at her silky touch. The golden king feels those knowing butterflies in his gut. Those pesky things that make him feel excited and terrified, nervous and completely comfortable. He has not felt them for years, since the mainland journey had begun. He rumbles, his warm flesh pressed against hers. Her words – he can almost taste the delight in them. He murmurs, whiskers still lip at her dampened pelt. "And you will always have me. I’m not leaving you again.” There were those words leaving. The knight knows that mistake will haunt him like a shadow he can’t shake loose. But maybe, just maybe, the light Sylvia casts his way will keep it at bay. If only for a little while.

Her voice changes. She is playful, she is happy. Muscles relax, eyes twinge into a grin. It does the heart good to hear the fluttering of joy. With a nudge and a pounce, she whirls and takes off. It doesn’t take him more than a half a second to follow suit. The rain pours down on his back. The lightning flashes in brilliant streaks of light. The sea angrily shouts at their high perch. Instincts know how close they are to teetering on the edge of the ridge, of tumbling over. It is metaphoric in some ways – falling in love is thrilling, dangerous, and there is always risk. But with the heightened risk comes exhilaration and a feeling of being undeniably alive.

The jungle looms closer through the humid haze. Golden eyes are fixed on the perlino flashing in front. Feet don’t notice the patch of sloppy earth until they give way in the slick surface. With a horrifying sound, his great body falls. Slick, smooth mud covers his back, his legs splay into the air. Mud flicks from his chocolate hooves. It is wet. He feels no pain, he is lucky, there are no breaks. A great laugh of relief issues from his lungs. He rolls with vehement force from side to side, caking his body in the dark stuff. "I’m fine! he shouts to the wind, to the storm, to Sylvia. Quieter, his voice falls. "I’m fine now.

It is in that instant, when he is covered with disgusting mud, drowning in rain, and almost shivering from the wind, that Midas realizes this is the first time he’s ever been ‘fine’.