They slept together as children do, limbs entangled and bodies pressed so close together you could not have separated them even with a surgeon's touch. Sibyl lay curled against Alastor's stomach, her head pressed against his hock as though it were her own personal pillow. It had taken time for them to relax into sleeping at the same time, into trusting the world to not fall out from beneath their hooves again. Even now, Alastor was restless. He lay with his neck curled over Sib's body, draping so that his muzzle just barely touched the ground beside the foreleg that was also thrown over her body.

They rested only because they trusted that Zjeena would care for them. That the mare that had greeted them on the shores of this beautiful land would protect them against the ills of the world, both real and remembered.

It is not the sound of her soft tones that rouse them, but the deep baritone of the stallion they did not know. Alastor was the first to come to, his small, fluffy ears flicking uncertainly until they deciphered Zjeena's voice. Slowly his eyes shuttered open as he woke and he fixated on the murky forms in the darkness. He does not know this stallion, but he imagines that he can guess who it is. The way Zjeena - their new mother - spoke of him left Alastor with the distinct impression that she cared deeply for the stallion Rougaru.

The idea of a stallion made him nervous. It would be so easy for him to not like them, to chase them away, and he wasn't sure Sib could bear being chased away from the small glimmer of happiness that they had found here with the Fjord mare. So instead of rising immediately, he remained crouched protectively over Sibyl, his small fuzzy ears pressed gently against his nape. As the stallion, who seemed impossibly giant from his position on the floor, spoke of the meaning of their names, one ear flicked forward.

How did he know such things of them? Curiosity raises his dark face and this movement in turn wakes the golden filly that slumbers beneath him. Sibyl has had her fair share of heartbreak, but she is already rebounding faster than her brother. She rouses beneath his protective pose and wiggles from beneath him despite his soft mew of protest between them. He is left to scramble to his own pale hooves, but barely manages before Sib is weaving her way to Zjeena's side. His muzzle leaves a caress along her hip as she leaves him and he fidgets in discomfort as she makes her way close to the dun mare.

Alastor refuses to be far behind her, and quickly makes his way to her shoulder again, sandwiching the golden girl between himself and their new mother. The small filly remains quiet, but peers up at the stallion with an innate sense of calm reflected in her pale eyes. She presses herself to Zjeena's side, clinging like a small burr to her golden coat.

The colt is more skeptical, his small frame braced for the stallion's dislike, despite the vow he had uttered only moments ago. Alastor's proud little neck is raised, and he raises his dark eyes to the stallion's as though to read his reaction, even as a subtle shiver races down his back.