Golden frame paced just on the lovely side of the territory split. He had avoided seeking out the trails of the actual Ridge ever since he and the little filly had returned to their home. The adventure had been grand! Her thrill at seeing the world beyond the rainforest had been a light to his heart. Never would he have dreamed of taking that experience away from her. Their track though had been clearly imprinted in the dirt. There was no doubt in the young stallion’s mind that someone would have seen the strangers’ hooves and caught their scent on the wind. He and Shararat had, after all, snuck in and explored the feature the territory was known for. Surely those who lived there visited the ridge of The Ridge. A shiver of concern pulled at Ailill’s pelt. That someone could very well be Vodnik himself. The giant draft was protective of what was his and his land. The tear in Ailill’s ear reminded him of lessons learned, and challenges not yet uttered. It reminded him that Vodnik still had something that Ailill thought ought to be his.

Macabre still resided in the Ridge, under Vodnik’s control. She did not have the freedom to do as she pleased, or possibly even visit the place she called home. Ailill knew she was mere steps away, and he could not take those steps to help her. He was stuck, and powerless.

Yet still, there was something more that called to him beyond the ridge. The scent was faint, just barely carries on the wind. But it had been there. A sweet scent he had inhaled once before with the mist and magic of the falls. It had been brief, almost an illusion. But it had been enough for him to stop for a second. The scent of the mare he had met in the falls had been in the Ridge. He could not pin-point where, could not dream how, but she had been there. And now there was all the more reason to dash into his adversary's land. If there was any chance she was there, he could meet her again. Just to see her, inhale that sweetest of scents once more. To fly on the fantasies she created within him.

His head lowered to the ground and brushed against the grass. His ears twisted uncertainly. If only Shararat had known what she had started in him. By innocently asking him to climb to the top of a mountain, she had once again made this knight don his armor and dare challenge the beast that could outmatch him in any and every way. Here again he was on the threshold of lifting his voice and raising his sword to challenge him for what he caught on the breeze.