The filly’s exclamation of the impossibility of black mare’s existence before her birth made El Aran snort in amusement. Such a strong personality, she thought as the girl bounded away from the two adults to pursue some kind of brilliantly colored bug. The seer watched the filly play and mused that such leisurely pursuits had not been possible when she herself had been a child. A sudden memory of her first child popped into her head: Iskelet bounding between her and Dany in the balmy Harbor, asking for stories and play. That time of her life had seemed a paradise, and she exhaled slowly to ease the sudden ache in her chest a she recalled her black and white friend —her first true friend, the blood of her blood, a mare she longed to have the chance to have one last conversation with, were it truly possible.

She also missed Encantador. He had been a stronger horse than she, in some respects. Things would be different if he had survived life in the Desert. But he had not. And neither, apparently, had El Aran, having been ostracized and exiled by her own flesh and blood.

The black mare twitched her ears and swung her dark gaze back to Taytim as the genial mare responded to her question about the filly. "Her heart is strong," El Aran offered by way of compliment. "I pray no horse will weaken it with words or force. We need more mares like her in this world."

Horses who didn’t give a damn about the purity of their bloodlines.

Her gaze shifted behind Taytim and up the mountain, following the invisible path she had been pursuing. "I came to these Islands looking for a shrine of my Goddess. It is strange; all the tales referenced a place of great heights and a source of sustenance, and yet this is the first time I have set hoof on the Peak."

She could not say why it had taken her so long to come here. Early on, at the base of the Falls, El Aran thought she had found what she was looking for and moved on to pursue her life anew among the residents of the Islands of the Lost. But that could not be the shrine. She looked for it now, having nothing else to do and feeling more weary every day.

Her eyes flicked to the filly again. "I never had a daughter," she said. "Only sons." El Aran had never expected to bear children: it was not a seer’s duty to reproduce. But she had borne two, both cherished sons, although Iskelet had left her early (not disdainful of family, no, but not dependent on those blood ties, either) and she had not seen Orhan in too long.

Perhaps it was time to go home.