Ailill’s heart was broken and bleeding. The wound on his body had healed, though his soul felt like it had been shattered. He had always dreamed of being the guardian, protector, sword and shield to his family. He would always be the one to step up and defend them. For the second time he had fallen to the savage attacks of Nyimara and for the second time the love of his life had been ripped away from him and his family.
He knew he would be able to care for his daughters. They would still know nothing but love from him. Try as he might, he made an effort to play, to bring the joy he once held into their lives. He would dash along the sand, encouraging them to run with him. There were times he felt as though he had succeeded. More often than not, he was more relieved the youngest had been born as twins, knowing they would be able to be companions to each other when he could not be there for them. Still, when he looked at Roisin and Akadi, he splintered still more, aching that he could not give them the spirit he had when they were younger, knowing it was his failure that continued to bring them pain.
The golden stallion still refused to turn away from his children. Though shame settled on him like the mantel he wished he had not picked up, he did not turn away from them and instead met their anger with a quiet poise that simply absorbed their words. He ached, they pained, and he could do nothing about it. The laws of the land forbade him from challenging again or stealing his love back. His hands were tied, and there was nothing he could do to assure Siobhan he had not abandoned her. He felt as though he were prisoner, and could not even imagine what cruelty his love was suffering under the ‘care’ of Nyimara and Aranck.
Ailill walked the sands of the Ridge, desperately desiring to jump into the waters and find her when the call reached his ears. The corners of his lips quirked for the briefest of seconds and he called back, letting Ysabel know he would be there soon. His body worn and weathered by his sorrow, he simply could not hasten to her. Instead, he trotted as fast as his soul aches would allow. When he beheld them, the sight of his friend and of his handsome son were a needed balm on his wounds. They did not take away the pain, but seeing them was like a gentle washing, clearing away the bitter infection his defeat had started in him.