It was two horses that approached Tarrant and, honestly, he hadn’t expected them to know him. A faint tickle, like a memory trying to resurface, ticked in his brain but was unsuccessful in coming to fruition. So instead he leaned back in the warm sand that cradled his cracked hooves, ears forward and green eyes ever watchful. It did surprise him when the mare spoke his name and immediately a flash of guilt ripped like a wound being prodded at. How rude of him not to remember someone that would know who he was. Tarrant had never been terrible with remembering friends before, after all. But at least she was pleasant, Tarrant half expected any who knew him to come barreling down the beach with their ears pinned and teeth ready to bruise his flesh.

Sylvia. Midas. Midas was a name which Tarrant would and never could forget. The son that had treated him as Tarrant felt he deserved to be treated, hatred burning in Midas’ gold eyes in the memories Tarrant had of him. He missed the colt he’d played with on the beach. He missed the son who loved him, knowing he’d never have him back. Fear struck the father then, the father that had always loved his son no matter how much hatred Midas gave to him. His heart crawled into his throat at the sight of Sylvia’s tears and he feared the worst – he feared that she meant his son was dead. Immediately his own eyes stung and he couldn’t find the courage to ask, he couldn’t find the courage to learn something which would truly devastate him.

But then Elliot – Tarrant’s grandson – spoke up and the stallion turned his green eyes to him. With what he said the burden was temporarily relieved, for it appeared Midas was not dead, but gone. Just like Tarrant had done time and time again to those he loved, it seemed Midas had reason to do the same. It gave Tarrant no victory to know it, because he understood. He understood the pull of the mainlands could sometimes be too much to deny and the burdens of the islands could be too great.

“No, no,” he said to her words, clearing his throat at last and shaking his head, “that’s quite alright.” He looked at Elliot and felt an ache in his chest. “I haven’t seen your father, Elliot. Not since I was last here on the islands.” He couldn’t tell him why he hadn’t and why he probably never would again. Tarrant remembered that day, the day when Midas had driven his family from Tarrant after spitting out hurtful words and, instead of arguing, Tarrant had simply turned and walked away. One day he had hoped maybe Midas would finally let go of some of the anger and allow them to talk about it, to perhaps heal and have some form of a bond… Even if it wouldn’t be the same as it once was. “It’s okay to be angry – you’re hurt.” His green eyes turned to Sylvia next. “You both are.” Tarrant couldn’t give them any words that would ease that pain. He couldn’t tell them why Midas had left or if he’d ever come back.

“I didn’t intend to return here,” he admitted softly to Sylvia’s first words, about her surprise to see him back on the islands, “but then suddenly I was…” He swallowed and shifted in the sand. “I thought I would come see Atlantis one last time before I…” Before he did the very thing he always did – disappeared. “Well,” a strained smile turned his lips and he cleared his throat, “it’s good to see you, Sylvia. Properly,” he worried for a moment if she believed what Midas’ opinion of Tarrant was, he wondered if she remembered the day he’d showed up at Midas’ home as well, “and to meet you, Elliot.” His green eyes went to his grandson and his smile softened just a touch.