He’d found her – she had come looking for him, sliding down the mountain in such a way that, for a moment, Balthazar (who was not accustomed to the incline, and found the idea of going back down rather daunting) felt his heart throb in his throat. But she called his name, and she did not fall as he had feared, and as she approached, his relief and joy mingled and made his head feel light, and so he dropped it, because the ground was no longer so steady beneath him. “Jezibelle,” he murmured, voice warm with contentedness. “Are you okay?” he added as an afterthought, but then he suddenly became preoccupied with the earth beneath him, as he felt it tremble, and his body tensed as confusion washed over him and a hint of fear wormed its way in.

“What…” He never got to finish his sentence. His heart shivered in his chest as he imagined the rock and earth crumbling away from beneath him, and losing his footing, and pitching forwards into an unknown darkness. But then he sensed her moving, and felt safer, because he wasn’t alone, he wasn’t alone. And he heard her speak again, and his seeing eye rolled, searching for her face. ‘No!’ Had he done something wrong? Did she not want him to come here? Had she changed her mind about him? Did she no longer want him? Breath caught in his throat as he numbly registered that she had turned her back to him. Did she intend to drive him off? Balthazar decided he would stay, even if this was her intention. He would not leave his mountain. Where else could he go and find the budding serenity that he found here?

A voice not unlike Kye’s sobbed inside. I only wanted a little longer. I only wanted to be happy. Was that too much to ask? Was I too greedy. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just wanted… He did not realise that he’d closed his eyes and tucked his head, until he blinked in the fading darkness, and found that her stance was not aggressive, but defensive. And she was defending him protecting him from something she perceived as a threat. He shivered, and a wave of self-loathing swept through him. How could he have thought so badly of her? How could he even have considered that she would turn on him, attempt to drive him out, and be so prepared for the first blow to land? Disgusted, that’s what he was. He was such a fool.

He recalled the story that Jezibelle had told him, when he had given her an opportunity to share something of herself. It was not about her, this story that she had spoken that winter’s day. She had used her words to tell him of her brother, Rurisk, because for a reason he had yet to establish, she hadn’t wanted to speak about herself. So he had listened, because in a way he had promised that he would. Because she had a way of speaking that made Balthazar feel like he mattered. She did not speak down to him, or with pity in her voice. There was no sigh laced through her words, and they were not rushed like the words of some, whose voices gave them away. That they didn’t really want to be talking to him. That they felt sorry for him. That they didn’t care about his opinions, or want to listen to his humble and mumbled replies.

He listened because he knew she cared. And more than that, she recognised something of his suffering, and understood it. And he listened carefully, because she was like he in that they were not prone to speaking for the sake of it. So he knew, he knew that when she voiced her thoughts, or her opinions, or her brother’s story, he knew that whatever it was she was saying mattered, and was of consequence. Oh, and her voice was beautiful to him, a gentle and soothing sound. A sound that was for healing.

Balthazar remembered Rurisk, and what unfair misfortune had befallen him. How could he ever forget? And though his brokenness and the brokenness of Jezibelle’s brother had been caused by quite different circumstances, Balthazar empathised with this one he had never met, and his heart, it ached anew for the colt who had been born voiceless, and was beaten and rejected because of something that he had no control over, and could never possibly change.

The disgust and the loathing were like snakes writhing in his belly. To think that Jezibelle would ever strike out at another after what had been done to her brother… And to believe that she would reject him in such a way, he that was broken and not whole, he that was viewed as weak because of things he could not help. He, that, if he had been born to another bloodline, may have been punished for his clouded eye and his unresponsive ear. He hated himself for being such a coward, and so quickly dismissing all that she had taught him. You deserve better! Well, if he did, then so did she, and if she’d let him, he’d try for the rest of his life to give her better. And to learn to love himself. And to let go of all his doubt.

She was still there, before him, defending him still. And if she knew what he had feared of her, would she stand there still? No! Who was he to doubt, to question. The fact that she was here was proof enough that he mattered. A half-sob tore up his throat, and his words were drenched with his emotions. “I’m sorry, Jezibelle,” he cried, and a moment later realised that she wouldn’t know what for. “Forgive me for my weaknesses.”

Slowly, and then all at once, he became aware of the other, the one that Jezibelle was shielding him from. He could make out her figure in the dark, for she was as Kye had been, standing beneath the moon. Jezibelle too, had white draped over her, and the three of them stood, for a moment, shining in the moonlight. She stood so close, this stranger, and Balthazar picked up on something that passed between the two mares, and suddenly fear rose up and took him. He stood motionless beside Jezibelle, his chin pulled in, and his body tense. His lone ear flattened, and he wondered if he really should flee. But no, I cannot leave my mountain. And so he stayed, meek and trembling behind Jezibelle.

The stranger spoke, and though at face value there was no venom in her choice of words, Balthazar caught the tone at the end, and could not help but watch and stand helpless as the words cut into Jezibelle, and as she flinched, he felt the ground shift beneath him again. He moved closer to her, and slowly, gently touched his muzzle to her hip, wanting to comfort, to remind her that he was there, and that he wold never leave her. He breathed in her scent, and then lifted his muzzle, and spoke, his eyes sad because of the sneer in her voice.

“Yes,” he said, his voice quiet, but bold. “She did.” And there were words that were left unspoken. Why do you say it as though it’s a bad thing. Shouldn’t you be happy? But there was much he didn’t understand here, and he knew, he knew that it wasn’t his place to say such things. This was their home, and he was a trespasser, unwelcome, an unbelonger once more. Except, he didn’t quite believe these things, not standing with Jezibelle near, with nothing but hope and healing in his heart. “Jezibelle, she found me,” he said, even softer. “And I came to find her.”