Fates be praised, she hears him. Kendry stills as Bozena comes into view, his heart pounding from more than the effort it took to climb the mountainside. The magnificent black mare is heralded both by rock scree as it skips down the slope before her broad hooves and the rich ring of her whinny. Her descent is graceful and sure-footed and Kendry stands transfixed as she comes. “Bozena,” he says again as she draws near, his voice lowered to a rumble, his urgency tempered with gratitude. As she speaks, the perlino stallion crosses the distance between them to reach for her, pale nose extended to brush the dark curve of her jaw before he tips his muzzle down to stand with her, cheek to cheek, breath mingling for only a moment. It is selfish of him to indulge in this intimacy, however slight, when a lost colt wanders at the base of the mountain and he still vividly recalls Bozena’s revulsion of him from their last conversation. Kendry draws back a bit to gauge her reaction to him now with one vivid blue eye. Though he aches to step closer and press his chest to hers, to feel the heat of her body and let his lips walk down the slope of her back as black and cream manes mingle, this is not the time. Nor is he confident she finds his closeness favorable.

Reluctance in every line of his body, Kendry withdraws into his own space and regards Bozena intently, focusing once again on the lost colt. “I found a boy, below, but he won’t let me come near him, doesn’t respond at all in the common tongue. He’s alone. He was distressed when I found him, and I fear my trying to help only exacerbated that,” Kendry admits with chagrin. His ears tick away from her, the barest flutter of hesitance upon his head, before he continues, “I thought perhaps he might be yours, or at least known to you— you’ve the same nose. But even if he isn’t,” Kendry turns as he speaks, though his head swivels to remain focused on Bozena even as he points his body down the trail. “He‘s clearly lost and on his own. I thought he might come to you, since he won’t let me near him. Please,” Kendry adds as he takes a step down the slope. “Will you help?”

He doesn’t imagine she’ll say no. Bozena defends the small, the ones in need; those whose own self-sufficiency is limited for whatever reason. It is not that the short mare who tripped in front of two bachelors so long ago was not capable of standing up for herself, but that the odds did not favor her until Bozena’s presence tipped the scales back to an even height. This lost colt will be all right in the end— provided he is protected until he can take care of himself. Kendry aims to give him a fighting chance in the world, but to do that he needs help.

Once assured that Bozena intends to follow him, Kendry hastens down the mountain. He can’t run downhill without risking a dangerous (or at the very least, embarrassing) fall, but as soon as the earth levels beneath his feet the pale draft launches into a run. Three beats later he checks his pace and slows to quiet the thundering of his hooves as they approach the beach where he last saw the colt. Ears forward, head high, Kendry moves at an impatient trot until he spots the boy distantly down the beach. Relief floods the pale stallion: his decision to go for help was not made in vain. The boy is still here, standing and live. He jogs to a halt and looks over at Bozena. “I’ll wait here,” he says, grinning wryly to hide his worry as he adds, “I don’t think he likes me.”