The sweet fragrances of Paradise turned sour in Faolain’s nose and mouth and time seemed to slow as the next few events unfolded before her.

The red-haired woman on the ground at her feet shrank distrustfully away. She seemed to think that Faolain was an agent of Rougaru’s, and though the black mare could not entirely blame her, her brow still furrowed slightly in disappointment. The defeated mare’s state was worse than she’d been able to see on the surface, and the small hope that she’d be able to coax her out of Paradise evaporated.

Faolain let out a breath as the ragged voice of the mare overpowered her hushed whisper. She knew what it meant, and was not caught off guard when Rougaru came crashing through the undergrowth to halt the painted mare’s opportunity to escape. One ear turned to him, and she saw him out of the corner of her eye when he burst forward. His teeth scraped the hairs of her hip, but did not touch the skin underneath, for she hadn’t neglected to acknowledge the possibility of getting caught. She slipped out of his jaws like smoke, her gaze flicking over him only briefly as he stood between her and the mare curled in the sand.

Faolain had fought Rougaru many times, but only in their first battle had he seemed truly angry. She had fought the Wolf King that day, not Rougaru of Paradise, and had stared into the hungry jaws of a canine that hid beneath the creamy white mane of a stallion. Rougaru had still been partially present then, in the Wolf King’s curiosity and his amusement at fighting a child-sized, inexperienced mare. This was how the Wolf King existed in Faolain’s memory, at least, and she recognized him now as the same savage opponent she had battled after claiming the Ridge.

But she did not have his curiosity or his amusement to temper his fury. She was not much of a mystery to him anymore. There wasn’t anything to hold him back if he chose to war with her now, no trace of the easy-going Rougaru to calm the primal fury of the predator within. His voice was cold and void of emotion when he spoke, and Faolain realized he was letting her decide the fate of their alliance - the last trace of his more reasonable side that she was likely ever to see before she turned her back on Paradise.

It was strange to think that she could back away now, if she wanted, and still save their fragile relationship. Would it be the same after this, even if she chose to walk away? She didn’t think so. It was a trick question Rougaru was asking her, and she watched him as she rolled her options around in her head like dice, copper eyes guarded and bright with tension. Part of her still wanted to mend things, to at least try and maintain a functional alliance with her most powerful neighbor, and she hesitated.

But the red mane of the gaunt mare was still visible behind Rougaru’s stance, and Çiçek’s feral and defeated form swam behind Faolain’s eyes, and she understood that she could not make the Wolf King change. She was not his mother; nothing she could say to him would convince him to take better care of his toys, let alone view them as living creatures with autonomy. Her eyes strayed back to the auburn hair of the painted woman in the sand, and for a few long seconds she contemplated Rougaru’s question.

Are you really willing to fracture the fragile alliance between us? I shall not ask again.

There was nothing more she could do here. The painted mare would not follow her back to the Ridge. ”I’m sorry,” she said to the shape crumpled in the sand, looking past Rougaru with eyes that softened for a brief moment before icing over once again as they returned to the silver stallion.

She could think of nothing she wanted to say to the Wolf King, so she kept silent, instead offering a nod in response to his question. With that, she turned and walked back the way she had come, keeping one ear turned, ready for the possibility of Rougaru deciding to charge her again.