The black mare’s ascent was slow but steady. She remained indifferent to the fineness of the day, distracted almost to blindness by the intensity of her own dark thoughts. It was the rapid pater of small hooves and the high, piping voice of a child that drew her back to the world, and El Aran’s head turned unerringly to pin her dark glance on the foal who bounded across the mountainside and strove to take shelter behind her. Adrenaline flooded her before she could register that the filly’s voice was not filled with fear, and El Aran braced her hooves against the earth and lifted her tail in a half-flag as she stared with straining ears to see who could be following the foal. The muscles in her slender body were tight as the older horse approached, no more than a few steps behind the child, and El Aran drew her head back to protect her throat as she prepared to lunge teeth-first at the threat.

But it was not a threat.

It took El Aran a moment to recognize the black chestnut, and a moment longer to recall the name of the young mare who had spoken so strangely of the Gods. The seer relaxed so suddenly her whole body trembled. This, this is what she was used to: the agony of panic in her blood, followed by the weakness that overcame her when the danger passed or her body could no longer sustain her heightened energy. She barely heard Taytim’s greeting, and when the other mare reached to trade breaths El Aran jerked her muzzle back and away with a harsh snort. Her throat was too tight for words.

When the filly marched up, nose extended and face severe, El Aran backed up a step. Dismay filled her to feel the loss of progress, even one step, and she planted her hooves once more as she steadied her own breathing. Aşk, beni kurtarmak, she prayed, and used that internal chant to calm herself as she blinked and then focused her gaze on the foal.

"You were not alive when I met your dam," she said, grateful of the specific question— El Aran barely had to think to answer it. She dragged her eyes up to Taytim’s young face. A new mother and her child. Here was hope. Life should always be so simple. It should never have been so difficult to simply be.

"Taytim." El Aran drew in a deep breath, held it, then exhaled slowly. "This is not the Falls," she said, and while she succeeded in speaking in a light voice, the grin that twisted her lips held no humor. Her eyes flicked to the filly again, and in seeing the foal a bit of light came back to her expression. "She is yours?" she asked Taytim without lifting her eyes.