If it is possible for a life to be simple and complicated all at once, Kune's is a prime example. It is simple in the way he has woken every day the last several months with no plan and nothing to occupy him other than the need to be present; it is simple, too, in the way the golden light of morning hits the very tip of the mountain first, then slides down to illuminate the entire thing in a predictable dance that is repeated every day.

Yet it is complicated in that Kune must constantly, quietly, wrestle with his identity, his thoughts, and his desires. Difficult as it is, he keeps himself in check, maintaining a balance between rebuilding his relationship with Božena and giving her the space she needs. He must remind himself every day that they had been apart for years, and that if he comes on too strong too quickly, he may destroy the bridge he is attempting to rebuild.

At least there are things to occupy his thoughts in the meantime, in the moments without Božena - when she is off patrolling or handling Peak business or simply enjoying some time to herself - which might otherwise be quiet and lonely. There is the growing Kuraz, who Kune takes as much pride in as though the boy is his own son, and there is the Peak itself, and the residents within it.

Božena had described to Kune what had happened in his absence: namely the war, and the Peak's tussles with the Lagoon bachelors. Pride - and a flicker of unease - had bloomed in Kune's chest when Božena had explained how she had held the entire bachelor herd hostage in order to negotiate the removal of Cullen. Kune has harbored a vile hatred for the Lagoon stallion ever since the day he had taken Božena against her will all those years ago, and to hear that Božena had won such victories against him had reminded Kune just how fierce a mare she is. It had made him see her lean, hard warrior's body and her many scars in a new light: a revealing light. Had Božena become wilder without him, or simply more herself?

Both were disquieting notions: ones he had hastily pushed away to focus on the present instead.

It’s one cool autumn afternoon when Božena finds him, and Kune lifts his head from his grazing to watch her descend, the sunlight glinting like fire against the black of her coat. His stomach lurches as she nears him, and the skin of his muzzle burns where she touches him. He gives a single nod when she speaks, but he only half-hears her. Over the past few months, they have fallen into the safe and comfortable routine of restrained friendliness and polite smalltalk, but with the cloud of autumn hormones hanging over their heads, it's all the more difficult for Kune to think clearly in her presence..

"Yes," he finally manages in their mother tongue, a heaviness to his dark eyes as he looks at her. "I missed it every day I was away." There's a pause, then a slow, heavy breath blown out his nostrils. His gaze drifts beyond, staring blankly for a moment. "As I did you."

He finds her eyes again. He wants to reach out and touch her, but he restrains himself, keeping his chin tucked to his chest so the muscles of his neck bulge. With that simple statement, he has addressed the elephant in the room: the unspoken fact that he had left her, and evidently hurt her so deeply that she had not come for him. The heaviness of this knowledge is thick in the air - thicker, even, than her heady scent in his nostrils - and he knows then that it’s time. He must address it further, or they will never recover.

Kune searches for the right words to offer her next, but his mind is dull as a weather-beaten stone in the heat of her presence. Kune has never been one for flowery words, in any case. Intead, he waits - a dark, quiet statue - to see how she will react to the two words he says next.

"I'm sorry."