It was said that time healed all wounds, but Siobhan held her doubts.

Months had passed since Bjorn had traded her life for his own, and yet she had spent them alone. Instead of reuniting with the family that she sorely missed and deeply needed, she had shied away from the prospect of interacting with them. How could she face them as the woman she had become? One who knew that she did, in fact, have limits to her ability to care for another creature. One who had allowed a demon to climb atop of her and have his way with her. One that had even welcomed such interactions insomuch as they meant a reprieve from the beatings that might have otherwise filled those moments.

She was no longer worthy of their love, much less their respect or care. Going home to the Ridge would not only further endanger them to Nyimara's wrath, but also tarnish the view they had of her. Would it not be better to have them believe she had perished at the hands of Aranck, or even in the vicious swells of the ocean itself?

Perhaps then she would not have to give birth to this child, or face the consequences of Aranck's attention in the Fall.

But Siobhan was weak. Each day that she stayed separate from her family, driven to the Crossing by the depth of her self-hatred and despair, she longed desperately for her family. Roisin. Akadi. Naenia. Saoirse.

Ailill.

The thought of each of them felt like a lance driven deep into her heart and no amount of counting clouds could lessen the pain of their memories. The guilt that accompanied her self-isolation only further poisoned the wound but even this proved less powerful than her want of her family.

It was a small family that had spurred her into motion. The nameless young mother had been so delighted by her twins that Siobhan could not have helped but draw her own comparisons to last season. To see the spotted stallion at her side and the love he had heaped upon the newborns had lead her to the realization that it did not matter who the sire of her child was.

What mattered was who loved them.

Had she not watched Ailill give Akadi his heart the same way that she had? Had she not seen him dote over Roisin as if she were his flesh and blood and not the daughter of his rival? Granted, Bjorn could hardly be placed into the same class as Aranck, but perhaps with some convincing, the two of them could influence this child to be something better than the unfortunate bloodline that they carried.

It was this hope - thin and feeble as it may be - that propelled her swollen figure back into the ocean and to the Ridge, but nothing could have prepared her for the wave of emotion that rolled over her the moment her hooves touched land again. Overcome, she had simply pressed her forehead to the sand and wept until she had nothing left to give. Thankfully, she had chosen to arrive in the early morning in the hopes that she would be able to gather herself before facing her family.

This small concession allows her to see him, before he sees her. It allows her a much needed moment to simply stare at the familiar lines of his golden figure and to absorb the swell of love and adoration that consumes her. It gives her a moment to stuff the guilt and self-loathing behind a hastily erected wall and paste a smile that trembles across her lips. Swallowing hard, she emerges from the dense forestry and calls softly to him.

"Ailill?" She murmurs softly, the words likely barely audible over the relentless hammering of her heart. "I'm home."

Vulnerable and afraid, she waits for him to turn. She steels herself against the probable revulsion when he realizes her condition and makes the connection between the sire and the mare he once loved. Siobhan prepares herself for the worst, too afraid to hope for anything better.