The Crossing was painted about a hundred different hues of brown— more shades than Iscariot had known could exist. More than his sky-blue eyes could truly see, though he was discerning the subtle differences between them more with each day that passed. The oaks’ reddish-brown leaves reminded him of Rivaini’s coat. Their shadow-striped trunks all but matched the color of Faolain’s eyes. Even the soft, damp soil— where it was not buried— tickled his mind with memories of a dark boy with a fire-bright mane. Hades, his name was Hades.

It seemed so strange that he could forget, when the children of the Ridge had once been his life. Everyone he’d known felt so distant now, the place he’d called home far enough away to be a different world. Or perhaps a dream. A dream that was bright and golden and beautiful, but one where he’d never truly belonged. And as much as he might ache for those he’d left behind, Iscariot could not bring himself to fly back to them. Though the pale face that looked up at him from the Falls’ pool was half a stranger, each day the slender stallion knew him better. Each day, he learned things about that unfamiliar creature that surprised him— such as the peace he could feel even in uncertainty, and the courage he could find even in fear.

If not for Roisin, he might have lived the entirety of his existence without knowing who he was.

A brush of warm lips, the soft murmur of a familiar voice. Lost as he’d been in the jungle of his thoughts, Iscariot was startled into motion by his young friend’s greeting. Shying away in jerky steps that elicit a wordless hiss of pain, the stallion rolled wild, white-rimmed eyes in the dun mare’s direction— and then relaxed, his tense body sagging into hers with a gentle sigh. "Roisin," he breathed, elation and admonishment melding together in those two syllables. Holding still and silent as the girl presented her sibling’s gift, he could not help but to marvel at the world of memories a single feather could evoke. In this way, the Ridge would never truly leave him— even if he should grow old and die without returning to its shores.

"Some strange creature tried to attack me, making the most unnatural and irritating sounds" the perlino chuckled as he answered her question, tossing his mane so that the tattered feather fluttered briefly through the air. He then twisted his neck as the last warm notes of laughter died, snapping his jaws together bare inches away from Roisin’s reddish-gold skin. "I fended her off as best as I could, but fear that my peace will be short-lived." To soften the sting of his words, Iscariot bumped his hip gently into hers. Almost as quickly as his mood had lightened, however, the weight of his companion’s words sobered it. Swallowing against the inexplicable knot in his throat, he spoke again in a voice that had faded to a whisper. "I meant what I said— I’ll go with you," he assured her, pale eyes flitting from her face to the layers of earth and soil that stood beneath their hooves.

But anguish twisted his next words, drawing them from him slowly, painfully. "Roi… what if they don't want me there?"