She oscillates between soothing and hurting him, unable to settle her mind enough to be the kind and steady mare that he has confided in before. As much as her hurt demands his pain, she cannot revel in it. Each tear that slips from his own eyes is a stab against her already tender heart and she isn't sure how much more of this pain that she can endure. All she knows is that she still wants him. Bjorn is still hers, still tied to her in a way that she cannot explain. She can no more rid herself of him than she could stop breathing.

He recoils and she hates herself for the words that she has said. Siobhan knows it is not the same. She knows and yet she wishes he would see it that way, so that she might selfishly keep both of them in her life, close to her.

The grullo stallion rejects her statements, as she knew he would. In turn, her own dished face shakes in disagreement. Even as he meets her eyes again, the pain written in them plainly, she shakes her head but remains silent for a long moment. Long enough for him to offer the words that make her cling to him as he comes close. She wraps herself around him, her body shuddering the weight of each emotion that wracks her body. Her heart pounds against her rib cage like a drum but she allows herself this small amount of comfort, knowing as she does that she may have broken them beyond repair.

"He hasn't," she whispers into the inky tendrils of his mane. She hesitates, knowing that she cannot allow him to blame Ailill for her own failings. Her own weaknesses.

"He didn't take me from you, Bjorn. He never could have. What is..." the words of explanation stick in her throat but she swallows and tries again. "What is between Ailill and myself was an accident. I thought you were dead. I thought that was the only way you would leave us."

The words grow softer as she remembers that pain too. It had been easier to think of him as dead rather than of herself and her daughter as easily abandoned. She shakes her head, not wanting to circle back to these accusations. "He was there when you weren't, and he didn't cross any lines that he shouldn't of until I asked. You cannot blame him Bjorn. I was so broken without you, and I couldn't afford it, not with the girls."

Siobhan couldn't stomach seeming weak around the girls for the rest of her life. Always waiting for someone who didn't seem like they were coming back. Her voice softens again, a part of her finally acknowledging some small truths in her heart."I needed comfort, and he was the only one here to give it."

In truth, there is a small part of her that finds his accusations unfair, although it is quiet in the cacophony of her sorrow. A part of her that bristles that he, after abandoning her and then finding Nyimara first, would accuse her of being unfaithful. It is nowhere near enough to overcome her desire for him, but it lurks in wait beneath her breast. There is a beat of silence before she pulls away enough, if he has not already, so that she may look him in the eye. "Your place is with me, and our daughter."

Her lips curve into a sad smile, knowing that this is likely not enough to hold him. Tears bud in her eyes again and her throat closes quick. She could bring up that she loved this place because he had. Because her memories were entwined with these branches. Here, where she had failed her herd and then found her redemption. She could remember clearly the day her best friend showed her all the pretty birds, and the night where the two of them had confessed the depths of their hearts. Here, where she had let go of her fear and accepted that it was okay to try again. "Here, with me."

Hastily she reaches forward to touch his cheek again, desperate to find any reason to convince him to come back. "Faolain isn't that strong. She's new to this. You could fight her and come back to me." Her voice cracks and brow furrows. If he asked, she is certain she would lower herself to her knees to beg. "Please, Bjorn, please stay with me."

Siobhan is not sure if she can bear to be left behind again, but Tinuvel feels like a capitulation of sorts. A sort of giving in that she is not ready to yield to. Somehow Tinuvel feels like a future where Nyimara rules - as cold and bitter as the vain mare's heart.