The golden stallion could really no longer be considered a ‘youth’, or young in any way. He now could stand boldly in his territory, his nose flared to take in the scents of the world around him, his eyes and ears alert for any change that could come over his home. The constant vigilance and pressure from his neighbor had the boy growing swiftly into a man. An ear twitched at a noise, the notch torn into the felt-like skin. A deep inhale every time he stopped along his daily trek had him looking nearly paranoid, but with the giant that stalked his own boarders it was hard to blame Ailill for his caution.

A break in the rain made his rounds a little more pleasant and a little more fruitful. The crash of the waves and sweeping waters had not completely washed away the tracks of a mare who had pulled herself onto his wet island. Lowering his head, Ailill brushed his nose gently against the tracks. There was a faint scent, but more importantly the trail seemed heavy and labored. Concern growing within in him, he followed the trail to where Jetta lay under a tree. Ailill’s pale eyes widened as he approached her still form. To his relief, she was still breathing, but panic remained in his heart. Carefully he nudged her with his nose.

My Lady. His voice was soft, loud enough to stir but hopefully calm enough not to statle. My Lady, there are softer beds to lay in for rest, if you would let me help you to them. He lifted his head to peer about. It never hurt to be too careful; he wanted to get this tired mare to safety before he checked deeper to see what weakened her.