it would be much easier, she knows, to let them all go. the bratry could wind down the rocky mountain paths with much more familiarity than when they had mounted it first and make their way back to the lagoon, relishing their freedoms if only she could let them go. but Božena remembers why they are here… she remembers what Cullen has done.

the ghost of macabre still calls to her, occasionally, along with the rest of her rodina, though they were not taken from her by that tyrant. fate was cruel sometimes, but the towering dark mare has to believe there was some sort of goodness in the world, and she has to cling to what she believed.

the battle was short lived and for that she was glad. A quick scuffle with not much harm done other than to send the bachelor away without his prize. the massive mare feels only a trickle of the relief she should though, knowing that this fight would not end. she is one small force fighting against a much larger one, it seems, and she feels tired. there is too much dissonance to be truly peaceful… her sestry are as tired of living among men as she is sure the bratrs are to be there… but she could not relent without a guarantee that so much effort would not be wasted.

she returns to the higher trails without fanfare, the stiffness she had felt settling in as watched the intruder fading as her body warms with motion again. An unassuming figure comes into view, the bratr for whom she had just fought to retain captivity of, and she tilts her head warily. had he come to berate her? Božena stiffens slightly, slowing her steady pace as he approaches, but her posture softens a bit at his respectfulness. her dark eyes take him with as much consideration as he gives her and she nods without humor at his question. blood brother she wondered? ”indeed, bratr. the lagoon finally shows some interest in regaining its members.”

he has never approached her to ask for his freedom before, as some others had… nor has he approached her to spout his distaste for the entire situation…. so the towering black mare, a solid as a sentinel, finds herself intrigued by his current nonchalance. she stretches her massive rounded head down to her knee to rub at a crust of sweat that itched her brow, turning her head in and extending her leg slightly to reach the offending spot. when it is relieved she lets her gaze fall back to him. a question pops into her head and she sees no harm in letting it pass her lips. ”would you rather i had lost?” he likely didn’t know her well enough to catch the subtle hint of humor in the question, because the noble mare would always believe that if she fought for the right reason, she would prevail.