The bay mare was not the only creature to haunt the distant, shadowy reaches of the Ridge.

Iscariot, too, had become a ghost since his impulsive response to the raw need in the blind woman’s voice. In the safety and silence of his mind, the pale stallion had argued against it. Telling himself that he couldn’t help her, that he didn’t know how, that he was too weak. That it was wrong, even if she had asked it of him. But in the end, the flood of her tears had broken the dam of his willpower, squeezing at the abraded flesh of his heart in how familiar the fear and agony that birthed them had been. Had he not always harbored such doubts of himself - of his ability not only to protect his own body, but also those of the creatures whom he held most dear? And would he not give anything - anything - to make the source of these dark emotions evaporate, like morning mist consumed by the heated glare of the sun?

The mercy he’d offered her, however, had not been without a price. Ever-shy and unversed in the physical intimacies of their kind, it had taken Iscariot a few fumbling tries to get things right. And his weak hind limbs were not made to bear the brunt of his body’s weight, so he had suffered and suffered greatly. Yet in the moments of peace that had followed - Echo’s trembling stilled, her tears absent - he was certain that his actions had been worth their cost. Trembling in her stead and feeling the burn of yet-unshed tears in his eyes at the relentless pain that gnawed at his legs, the perlino felt as if he’d lifted the burden from her shoulders, and taken it onto his own.

And it had felt right - at least in that moment.

It was only after the red woman had withdrawn that the familiar voice of doubt crept back into his thoughts. No matter how determinedly he sought Echo out, she evaded him easily in the dense mountain-jungle of the Ridge. And he could not help but to question why despite the promise that she’d made before their joining. Had he hurt her, somehow? Forced her against her will, despite the pleas with which she’d convinced him? Such a surrenderer did not constitute willingness, after all - for had his sister Rivaini not done the same to spare Faolain? Had he not since read the regret and grief that roiled beneath the surface of her ocean-blue eyes? Was he no better - beneath the core of his insecurities - than a beast like Rougaru?

Without the answers to these questions, he could not face anyone. And so Iscariot, too, had become a ghost.

In a way, this strange existence did help him to face some of his fears. The darkest recesses of the Ridge he had always avoided in the past - for the terror they evoked, at the potential of what their shadows might hide - became a source of comfort to the creamy stallion now. Silence was relished, because he could not bear to hear the murmured endearments that Rivaini and Faolain exchanged, or the bitter, wounded note that still lingered in Roison’s laughter even now that her family was reunited. Solitude was welcomed, because it was easier to bear his burden alone - as he should - without the temptation of confiding in one of his closest companions. And though he was lonely, Iscariot had come to understand that it was not the absolute worst fate. No, the worst thing he would face was the recimination of his herd-family when they learned of what he’d done.

He didn’t know what drew him to the place where water fell in a ribbon down from the heavens, but the beauty of the spectacle left the pale stallion breathless. For a moment, his senses were so utterly consumed by the miracle of what he saw that Iscariot could not be certain he’d heard the sound of another’s sobs, muffled and muted by the dim roar. But then his pink-skinned ears tipped forward, certain that they had caught the barely-audible yet familiar syllables that comprised his own name. Had it become from behind the wall of water that he faced? He couldn’t be certain, but the strange new courage that his solitude had given him prompted the stallion to investigate where he once might have fled.

Iscariot stepped forward as far as he dared, feeling the thunderous force of the falling water resonate in his very bones. Having edged the front half of his body into the narrow gap that lay behind it, he stood waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, and was certain that he saw an inky shape shift amidst the shadows. Inhaling deeply, the perlino male suddenly understood who he’d heard, and why she had chosen to hide. Feeling the breath leave him in a ragged gust, he jerked a single step backward, feeling the cold ash of shame in his gut as she spoke. Unaware of any other presence, Iscariot could only assume that her words addressed him, and he felt their perceived dismissal as keenly as any physical blow. "I - I’m sorry," he offered hastily, knowing that he should retreat but feeling the selfish need to absolve himself of even a small measure of the guilt that plagued him.

"For - for everything," he continued in a rush, tense and prepared to back away should she rush to attack him as he deserved. "I didn’t mean to - to..." But he had meant it, at the time, and could not be certain that he would do differently even if he’d had the opportunity to go back. And Iscariot did not have it in him to lie, so instead he backtracked in both the figurative and the literal sense - taking two more steps so that only his head poked into the sanctum that the blind mare had claimed. "I just - I didn’t know that I would hurt you. I- I’m sorry, Echo."