Božena's countenance changes almost instantly, and Kune sees it all: the bobbing of her throat as she swallows, the evasive darting of her dark eyes, and the turning-back of her ears into the black of her mane. It's an odd feeling to have their roles reversed - for Kune to be the one with a steady, confident gaze and certainty in his heart - but also to witness this moment of vulnerability in such a strong mare. Kune knows, then, that no matter how old and buried deep it is, the wound he had given Božena is still raw.

He expects her to either turn around and walk away then, or to explode and give him the venomous tongue-lashing he deserves. To his surprise, she does neither: she takes one shuddering breath, and then lifts her eyes to meet his. They exchange a silent look in which Božena's pain and internal anguish is as stark as the mountain at her back, and then she reaches for him. The gesture is so unexpected a quiet ripple of barely-concealed shock passes across his face, but he relaxes and lets his eyes flutter closed, his heart galloping at the gentle pressure of her face against his neck and the headiness of her scent in his nostrils.

The old Kunžak, the Strážce, would have stood dutifully still and quiet for her, a black pillar of support. This Kunžak aches to touch her, but as he's about to reach out, she says his name like a sigh, and there's a weight in her voice that makes him freeze in place. He waits for the inevitable: for her to reject him, to say that what he had done was unforgivable.

I didn't mean for you to leave. I don't... I don't want that.

He can hear the struggle in her voice: the fight between the desire to remain strong and the need to crumble. It makes Kune's heart ache for her, and he takes one long, steadying breath as he formulates his reply.

"You did nothing wrong, Božena," he finally says, his voice low and gentle: a near-whisper for her ears only. "I... I did not know how to be what you wanted me to be: how to be anything other than a Strážce, as I've been all my life." He pauses, momentarily distracted by their closeness, by the warmth of her skin against his. He closes his eyes again, mentally pulling at the fragmented strings of his thoughts and aligning them into something coherent.

"I... I needed time to process, to unlearn. To re-learn. But I could have done that here, with you. And for that I am sorry. I was a fool."

Much as it pains him to, Kune forces himself to pull away so that Božena can see the earnestness in his face, but he remains close: close enough for their whiskers to brush against each other, and for him to feel the heat radiating from her scarred black body. "I am here. I will be whatever you want me to be. I have lived without you; I cannot do it again."