The last time Het Vuur had made such a lengthy swim, it had been with his daughter on their return to the islands. Back then he had not only been blind, but also weak and malnourished, and his muscles wasted from lack of exercise; as a result, he had been forced to grip the edges of Inka’s tail between his teeth to ensure he was not left behind to suffer a watery grave. It had been humiliating, but necessary.

The stallion was stronger now, both in mind and body, but his disability still prevented the oceanic trek from becoming anything remotely resembling enjoyable or effortless. Sterre led the way, of course, and Het Vuur cut through the water close behind her, listening closely for the sloshing of her movement. Out of pride, he did not reach forward to grasp the hair of her tail but for once, when the waves became rough and choppy for a brief period, threatening to separate them. When he had trouble hearing her over the din of the water, he simply called out her name.

Part of him worried that she was leading him in the wrong direction, for they had not been in their frozen home for some years, but there was no turning back. He had no choice but to place his faith in her completely.

So he did.

His legs being much longer than Sterre’s, he was caught somewhat off-guard by the sudden sensation of ground beneath his feet. The giant stumbled awkwardly out of the shallows and onto the damp sand of the beach, dipping his head forward to catch himself and flicking his heavy tail into the air. When finally he regained his composure, Het Vuur stood with knees trembling and heaved heavy breaths into the air. It was cold – ridiculously cold – and he felt numb all over despite their exertions in the ocean.

Words would not come to him, so he smiled instead.