He’d followed her up the moment, while Jezibelle fled to its base and beyond, taking what was left of his sad heart with her. And he’d noticed others, further up, he had looked at them, but he hadn’t seen any of them. He hadn’t spoken to any of them either, just slunk along like a love-starved and reprimanded mutt with his tail between his legs. He’d found himself a cave, that was small and reminded him of the one at the falls. It wasn’t damp and cold, though he caught himself often wishing it was. He waited, waited for Jezibelle to come back to him. But she did not. Sometimes one of the mares would come to the mouth of the cave, try to get him to come out. But he just ignored them, and when they grew irritated, or exasperated, or pitying, he’d hear it in their voices, and he’d shrink away. And there he’d stay, pressed against the back wall of the cave, until they let him alone.

In time, though, he grew weary of the silence, and the darkness, and the loneliness. He needed light to live. And so, one day, as the sun rose, the miserable and reclusive stallion emerged from his cave, to breath in the free air. And the light caught in the silver threads of his mane and shone.

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The sun rose in the sky, and Balthazar carefully picked his way across the sloping terrain, uncertainty in his movements, and apprehension in the lines of his face. Every time a stone worked loose and skittered down the mountainside, he hesitated, and drew in a breath before continuing. He was heading away from his cave, so that his seeing eye (and hearing ear, or lack there-of) were facing the slope of the mountain, while his clouded left eye, and useless left ear were towards the mountain’s peak. He believed that any danger would come from below, as opposed to above. His biggest fear was that he might lose his purchase on the ground, and find himself tumbling down the mountain that had always been a refuge to him.

He was hungry – he’d eaten very little since he’d arrived and holed himself up in his cave of misery, and it was showing. He was not that different in appearance to how he’d been the day he’d first come back here, the day he’d met Jezibelle, but much had changed about him since. He paused a moment to tear at a mouthful of tough grass, trying to stop himself from wondering where she was (and why she hadn’t come back). But it was hard to keep his thoughts from straying to his mountain mare. Especially when his heart leapt every time he caught sight of movement on the slopes below.

He’d never been able to see so far before. This was something that he marvelled at. All those times he’d stood in the shadow of the mountain, he had marvelled at how mighty it seemed. But standing upon its upper inclines, with the world below, it no longer seemed like a world of its own – or not such a big one anyway. But he loved it still the same, and for now, at least, he was glad to be here, even though he longed to see Kye and his kin. He tugged at another mouthful of grass, and felt a little more secure in himself, and a little more confident in his stance now that he wasn’t moving. He wished, he wished fiercely that she were here beside him, because he missed everything about her. A breeze stirred his mane, and he turned his face into it, finding it lifted his spirits as well as his silver hair. Someone would come across him soon enough, he knew. Balthazar had discerned that the mares here kept watch from their lofty Peak, and understood now that little could go on upon the sides of their mountain without them knowing. He vaguely remembered voices, and struggled to match them to faces, and occupied himself with wondering which one of them would come down (or maybe even up) to meet him.

Balthazar didn’t dare wonder if Jezibelle missed him too. Didn’t dare hope that she would be the one who came to find him.