‘Not everything is about you,’ Sterre snarled at him, and Het Vuur’s brow furrowed in indignation. How on earth was Sterre leaving him not about him? Unless she meant that... No, there cannot be someone else.

Then again, how could there not be? Het Vuur was a shadow of his former self, and Sterre had always been impulsive. Why would she not allow herself one last fling before she grew too old? God knows these islands are crawling with young, stupid stallions. It would have been as easy as cake for Sterre to lure one in with the promise of an experienced older mare.

Het Vuur, in all his obstinate cluelessness, had failed to consider the one other possibility - for it was something he had not thought still possible for some years now. Out of all the couplings they’d enjoyed in their time together, they had produced only two children. And now that they were nearly old enough to be considered eldery, it made sense to assume that producing more was not something they needed to worry about.

Thus, when the truth came, Het Vuur paused only a moment before bursting into mean laughter. “Stop fucking around,” he retorted, pinning his ears and stomping one forehoof. The ice in his gut had melted away to make room for another plume of anger. “You’re not pregnant. Just fucking say it – you’re leaving me. Get it over with so we can part ways and get back to our miserable fucking lives.”

The giant snorted and shook his mane, turned his body counterclockwise until he was facing away from her, then stood hunched and glowering like a gargoyle. Even if he could not see her, he did not want to give her the satisfaction of looking into his face as she said it. Fuck her. Fuck everything.

His head hurt.

Wait...

Lifting his head and pricking his ears, the stallion felt a cold sensation creep down his spine. Callous as she was, Sterre was not the sort to lie indiscriminately. She had always been brutally honest. And he was older than her. Perhaps it was his fertility that had eroded away, just like everything else about him.

Like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, it came together.

“You are,” he muttered, his voice hard and smooth as ice. “You’re telling the truth. And it’s someone else’s, isn’t it? Ik ben blinder dan ken ik.”

The last part was nothing more than a whisper.