Titania hears it. Even over the din of the birds, she can hear it, the sounds of squealing and scuffling and struggle. She keeps her distance, knowing that with her widening stomach she can’t move stealthily enough to go unnoticed, and so she learns in bits in pieces, gathering scraps of evidence into a more complete picture. Fiery Jabari is here one day, gone the next, along with another whose scent she cannot place. Bitterness lingers on her tongue as she realizes that he has clearly not fought for her freedom, as well, despite their supposed bond as fellow dwellers of Luthien. Was it her shortness from their earlier conversation? Was it the way she’d chastised him, however subtly, for turning away the strong mare Vanya?

She had stewed over it for a day or two, letting the anger simmer in her veins, before gathering her resolve. She must refocus her efforts, especially as the months crawl on and the foal quickens within her. Her due date approaches, bringing many varied layers of doubt and uncertainty. The speckled mare has faith Rille will know when to come for her… but there isn’t any harm in carving out her own path back home, just in case. If there’s one thing Titania’s learned from this whole ordeal, it’s that even the best laid plans can go to waste. Better to have backups, and backups for the backups, than be caught floundering and vulnerable.

That night Titania lingers on the outskirts of the herd, kept awake as much by the stirring of her mind as by the stirring of her babe. Her head raises slowly, scanning for Rougaru’s whitecapped form and finding him missing, as she’d learned he was wont to do. Her sweeps change, then, searching for the tall, elegant mare she’d spoken a handful of words to weeks prior.

At last, she spots her. As quietly as she can, Titania maneuvers her speckled body through the undergrowth. There is a shaft of moonlight, bright silver, peeking through a hole in the canopy; she moves through it and stops beneath its pale beams so that she is illuminated, blue-black and stark white and highly visible to the object of her careful attention. If she - if Vanya - cares to look, she would see Titania standing, her ears perked and her eyes bright, looking directly at her for a long moment. She remains frozen in place for a minute before inclining her head just slightly to the side. Follow me, she wants to say, but dares not to, hoping her wordless beckoning will communicate it well enough for her.

Message sent, the Appaloosa mix walks, languid and flowing, back into the shadows. Her steps point her in the direction she had indicated mere moments ago, deeper into Paradise’s wicked heart, where they might steal some time alone and not be missed for it. Vanya’s plea had stuck with her, her unborn’s every shift and movement only further reminding her of the son the whitesplashed mare fought to save from Rougaru’s greedy clutches. She would not - could not - leave another prisoner behind, couldn’t take what scraps she managed and flee, forgetting the rest. Come hell or high water, she vows, she will see Vanya, too, freed from this beautifully gilded cage, and so she waits, listening hard for the sound of approaching hoofbeats and hoping against hope that all of her little efforts have culminated into something bigger.