Morrigan

Morrigan angled her head to watch Magnus's charge with confusion, unaware of the danger that had been lurking both downwind and on her blind side. The spotted stallion had seen, however, and flung himself at the shadowy figure with a scream of challenge that left her ears ringing. Nemain was pressing herself so tightly against the mare's side that she might have hoped to disappear into the shaggy black coat, but invisible chains had bound Morrigan's body, and she could offer neither word nor touch to comfort the child. She had not needed to see the web of scars that stretched across his skin - or the shadowed socket that was paired with a single golden eye - to recognize the dark young stallion.

A mother never forgets.

Though she wanted nothing more than to turn and flee, Morrigan's gaze was drawn inexorably to the ruin of the her son's face, and then she couldn't look away. Her dark eyes traced the pale puckers of flesh, and with each one she felt an echo of the agony Felony's child had undoubtedly endured. But it was nothing compared with the torment in the golden eye that flicked in her direction; a half second's glance that nevertheless held her in thrall, like a small creature staring into the eyes of a predator. In that moment, she saw herself in him, and knew what he had come for. A choked sound - half sob, half scream - escaped her throat, and she stumbled backwards on limbs that felt as weak and wobbly as a newborn foal's.

"Run, Nemain," she whispered through bloodless lips. "Go back to the herd." Her body curved around the child, shielding her from the young stallion's sight.

She would sooner face death than see her daughter harmed.