Since the days of his youth, Iscariot had been told that his gentle heart was a weakness. That the ache he felt at others’ sorrow and the elation he felt at their joy was fundamentally wrong, and something he should strive to bury deep within himself. But the perlino stallion - try as he might - could not harden his heart to the world around him. His own suffering was a testament to the cruelties of life, and Iscariot ached to make a difference. To be the strength and purpose of another, as his silver-haired sibling had always been to him. To bring light to the world that he lived in, even if its radiance was fleeting.

It was the only way that he could ever feel that he had repaid even a fraction of what he had been given.

Perhaps that was what led Iscariot to step closer to the grullo mare, instead of backing away. To extend his muzzle for an exchange of breaths, even though his heart thundered at the audacity of such a gesture. "I - it’s no burden, truly," his soft voice murmured, the syllables threatening to catch in his throat. "My sister, she used to tell me that sorrow is a burden that was meant to be shared. I know that I’m a stranger to you, but -" An invisible fist had closed itself around his windpipe, but the ghostly male only shook his head, breaking its crushing hold. "-but I’ve known sorrow often enough. And - and in a way, I guess that means that I know you. Or at least, a part of you."

Though they had sounded wise in his head, when spoken aloud the words were so stupid and wrong that Iscariot almost fled. But he fought against the force of his doubts with the force of his will, and won. Exhaling softly, the perlino let his gaze drift upward. Watching the stray threads of sunlight weave their way through the darkness of the canopy. "I came here to find my sister," he confessed after a long moment had passed. "But if you wouldn’t mind, I - I would like to keep you company. Or - or I can go, if you would prefer."

It hadn’t occurred to Iscariot until the offer was made that maybe his companion didn’t want company. Sometimes, when the burden of his sorrow was too great, he had crept off on his own to shed what pieces of it he could in tears. Not because he didn’t trust his heart in another’s hands, but because he had no wish to place an even greater weight on the shoulders of those he already leaned so heavily upon. Rivaini and Faolain deserved better than to be dragged into the depths of his pain. They deserved happiness, just as this stranger did. And if he couldn’t give her that - then perhaps Iscariot could at least offer her even a fraction of the comfort that those closest to him had always brought him.

Stretching forward in a gesture that seemed to cross miles instead of inches, Iscariot breached the tiny chasm that still stood between his pink-skinned muzzle and her skin. Touching the soft curve of his lips to her cheek in a gesture that sought to convey how well he could understand the tears she had shed, even without knowing their cause.