Common

Iscariot could not have gone much further and was grateful when Faolain finally stopped entirely. By that time even his sounder back leg had reached the limits of its strength, and the other... the pale stallion inhaled raggedly as another spasm of pain lanced through it from thigh to pastern. For the breadth of a heartbeat, the limb buckled underneath him, and Iscariot feared that he would have to endure the shame of crumpling at his companion's hooves. But then it mercifully chose to stiffen up instead, giving only the occasional shiver to protest its woeful condition. And though the waves of his agony had never crested this high before, Iscariot's mind was surprisingly clear, and his thoughts coherent.

"Just a cramp," the perlino offered by way of explanation, with a smile that sought to reassure his companion. While the expression might have warmed his features, however, there was still sadness swimming in the azure depths of his eyes. It was too soon to call Faolain friend, but Iscariot felt that they had made the first mutual steps in that direction. And he feared that if he was to confess that he was - well, broken - she might turn away from him. Not out of cruelty, of course; from what the stallion had witnessed so far, his acquaintance was pragmatic and plainspoken, but not unkind. No, like many others, he was certain that she would leave because his condition placed too much of a burden on those whose company he shared.

And Iscariot would let her go, because he would never want to weigh Faolain down in such a way.

Turning his attention to the strip of coast on which they stood, Iscariot's eyes raked the sand. He saw the prints of many hooves but was unable to recognize any as being distinctly Rivaini's. Surrendering to his other senses instead, the ivory stallion lowered his head, the warm wind of his breath forming gentle ripples in the sand as he sought his sibling's familiar smell. He had all been given up when finally - in a spot where the sand had been churned up to reveal stones underneath - Iscariot inhaled deeply and froze. Beneath the salty tang of the sea and dusty musk of earth, the stallion tasted a scent that was unmistakeable for all that it was faint.

"Rivaini! It's hers, it's Rivaini's scent, she was here!"

Iscariot turned and - had he not been met with the barrier of the dark mare's body, would likely have rushed off in the direction the trail led. As it was, he nearly collided with Faolain and was forced to sidestep to avoid doing so. It was the last act of abuse the perlino's aching limb would tolerate, and the leg finally collapsed beneath him. Quick reflexes enabled the stallion to keep his figure partially upright, so that he sat on his haunches like a dog... or a foal who'd taken a tumble. However one described it, it was a ridiculous and humiliating pose, and left the Andalusian male with no viable argument against the black mare's almost-command.

A sigh expanded his belly and then left his nostrils in a soft whuff of air. "Perhaps you're right," the creamy stallion said ruefully, making no effort to stand. "I'm in no condition to do chasing after Rivaini now. At least I know that she is here, and hopefully safe... knowledge that I would not have gained without your help." The volume of his voice dropped towards the end, as a tangle of emotions seemed to catch in his throat. Clearing it with a raspy sound, Iscariot continued in a voice as firm as Faolain's had been. "But I would not ask you to stay - you, who have already done more for me than any stranger has a right to ask. I give you your freedom, Faolain - and my gratitude. Hopefully this will not be the last we see of each other."

The said, front limbs were folded to tuck beneath his form, and neck stretched 'round to one side so he could push his muzzle into the warm pocket between one leg and his broad chest. And though Iscariot struggled with the fear that he would never see Faolain again, he won a battle against the temptation to open his eyes and see if she still lingered nearby. After a time, the last vestiges of tension drained from his body, and the Andalusian male slept in truth.