The journey to his new home was infinitely less dramatic than Iscariot's arrival on the islands - and yet the moment that his hooves touched the sand was more profound, more powerful, than that pivotal instant in his life. Perhaps it was because this time, the pale stallion knew that he followed his heart. Though it had been made with her brother's best interests in mind, the decision to leave home had been Rivaini's and hers alone. Until he had learned what it was to stand alone and be responsible for his own fate, Iscariot had never truly invested himself in any particular course - content to simply follow wherever his sister chose to lead him. And though of course the silver bay took point naturally in the journey to Atlantis, it was less a position of ultimate authority than a matter of convenience; Rivaini knew the way, and Iscariot did not. It was only logical that she should travel at the head of their two-creature pack.

At regular intervals throughout the long swim, the perlino noticed his sibling glancing concernedly back at him, though he was careful to conceal any signs of struggle or pain. Truth be told, it was easier than he had expected, though once a terrible cramp seized one hind limp and he had thought himself unable to continue. It was the thought of the trials that Faolain had endured in reuniting the pair that kept him going, forcing the limb to continue kicking even as it screamed its agony at him. Rivaini had told him the story as they stood together, watching the pale pinks and oranges of dawn lighten the sky. How the dark mare had undoubtedly weathered a blizzard alone, and still somehow found her way even when much of the bay mare's scent had been buried beneath a blanket of snow. How even when his sister had expressed skepticism at the truth she spoke, Faolain had persisted. And far from making him feel weak - as it would have in his past - the strength of the ones Iscariot cared for gave him strength, in turn.

That, and the sight of the island slowly emerging from the sea. Its ridged contours was unlike anything Iscariot had ever seen before - like Rivaini, he was reminded of a creature curled up on its side. As they drew closer, he could make out details that were both foreign and familiar - trees that were not unlike those amongst which he'd grown, the plenty of foliage that bordered on absurd in its density. Through wary blue eyes he watched these things take shape before him, expecting memories and emotions from the past to assert themselves - but the grief and enmity he felt were nothing more than ghosts of the heartache he'd once known. After all, despite its similarities Atlantis was no more his old home than his present was his past.

Once they made landfall, Rivaini was eager to show her brother around the Ridge, but the creamy stallion was exhausted and longed for a moment of solitude in which to process his new circumstances. Sensing his need, the silver bay withdraw reluctantly from his presence after indicating the path that would lead him to the valley she had shared with Faolain. Iscariot parted from his sibling with a soft brushing of muzzles, his hooves carrying him down the narrow strip of sand that framed his new home. A couple times the beach was buried beneath the sea so that he needed to wade - or even swim - to continue following the contours of the island, but the almost-white stallion continued determinedly on without even knowing what drove him, ignoring the throbbing ache in his hind legs. Compared to the inexplicable compulsion that he felt, it was a trivial complaint; the bite of a fly that was easily brushed away in the next instant.

By the time the shoreline began to widen again, a familiar call joined the sounds of sea and wind, and the dull gnawing ache that had grown within Iscariot was abruptly gone. Turning his head toward the source, he saw Faolain emerge from the foliage to greet a stranger, and added his own greeting call from afar as he turned inland to approach the pair. Weary and damp - with a thin layer of sand clinging to his ivory coat and his left hind betraying its weakness with a subtle-yet-evident drag of the hoof - Iscariot was not quite able to capture the same air of dignity as the other two. But his smile was genuine, and his pale eyes warm with emotion - particularly when they met Faolain's.

"A friend of yours, Faolain?" He asked in his soft voice, gaze raking over the figure of the chestnut male with neither judgment nor hostility. "I'm Iscariot." He offered in greeting, before letting his eyes return to the dark mare's face. "Every time we've said goodbye, you've sneered at the odds and achieved the impossible. Should I leave again?" Iscariot bumped his muzzle into her neck teasingly before touching it to hers, exhaling his breath in a contended sigh that gave lie to his words. Of course, if Faolain truly wanted him gone he would leave - but if she welcomed his presence, there was nowhere else he'd rather be than beside her.