Faolain seemed to have forgotten her injuries from the night before, except her swollen and useless eye. She did not even care if the eye never opened again, only that it was a terribly inconvenience right now, and she had to compensate by swinging her head around to see with her good eye as she raced with abandon through the Ridge.

The battered ‘Teke mare leaped over fallen branches and underbrush in her search for Hades. She knew it was foolish to travel this recklessly, even in good health, and Faolain’s state was far from good. She had nearly tripped a half dozen times before she heard Siobhan’s voice, carried down the Ridge and causing Faolain’s chiseled head to snap upward. Her body spun to follow the sound, and she raced up the incline to see the spotted mare peering down at a fiery bundle in the underbrush.

An unmoving fiery bundle.

Faolain slid to a halt, and did not catch the words of reassurance Siobhan uttered to Hades; but she did recognize, in the breath as she reared up ever so slightly from the sudden stop, that Sio was talking to him, and that meant he was alive. The black mare’s front hooves touched the ground again, and Faolain took a deep breath to steady herself before creeping forward.

She could see that Hades was breathing, and that he was bloody, but could not tell the extent of his injuries. “Hades,” she breathed, dropping to her knees next to him. She ran her lips across his deep brown fur, trying to gently rouse him so that she could see where he was hurt. Her fear had halved since discovering he was alive, but now fury blossomed in her throat again - renewed, and even stronger somehow than it had been last night. There was no longer a sense of misplacement for her anger, as though Cullen were being remotely puppeteered by the real enemy far away. Cullen had earned his place in Faolain’s mind as an enemy in his own right, as loathed as Nyimara.

Touching the colt helped bring Faolain back to reality. She breathed into his fiery mane, and closed her eyes, willing her heart to settle. He was alive. There was no pool of blood spreading around him - he could use a bath, but she told herself that he would be alright. He had to be alright. Faolain stood up again, giving Hades room to stir, or at least to breathe. She turned her dark, worried gaze to Siobhan, and intended to thank her for finding the colt, but found that the words stuck in her throat. All that came out was a long, shaky sigh. Instead of words, she brushed her dark muzzle gratefully against Siobhan’s shoulder.