Common

The unlikely pair raked the sand for signs of Rivaini until the sun had peaked over the treetops and their backs warmed slightly under its light. Faolain felt blind in this search, as she had no knowledge of the scent they needed or the hooves that may have left imprints in the wet sand, but she searched anyway. There were not too many traces of other horses here; any trail she found, she alerted Iscariot.

Finally, they found something.

At his call, Faolain sped to the site of the trail, eager to pick up the scent and track it into the island, but this was where the ivory stallion had to stop. As she approached, he swung around and in his attempts to avoid crashing into her, Iscariot buckled. Faolain dashed out of his way, and then immediately felt ashamed for not attempting to help, but there was not much she could do.

Faolain could see that Iscariot was suffering, and she did not know how else to help aside from finding Rivaini. The ivory stallion had nearly hit the ground, and she watched him awkwardly sit in the sand, wanting to offer her support but knowing she was not very strong—and she was also a stranger.

Hope had flared in Iscariot’s voice when he found his sister’s scent, but now all energy seemed to rush out of him, and Faolain found herself picking it up. "Freedom was always mine," she said, and though the words themselves might have easily been harsh, her voice was gentle as she reminded him in her own odd way that she wanted to be here, that she wasn’t forced. Her help was a choice. "I don’t do anything I don’t want to do." Cautiously, Faolain stepped toward her downed acquaintance—he was certainly the closest she’d had to an actual friend in a while—and extended her nose to him before he tucked his muzzle away, their whiskers brushing briefly but no contact of skin. ”I will come back. You must be alright until I return,” she commanded.

With that, the black mare turned and sped away, following the scent of Iscariot’s lost sister.

FAOLAIN