The adolescent boy waited at the older male’s side, patient, gaze drifting beyond to where the dark mare that both of them love rested upon the gentle slope of a hill. When Kunžak gave his reply, Kuráž turned to him, hopeful, only to feel a twinge of guilt when he noticed the lines of exhaustion in the stallion’s face. A ripple of irritation travelled down his spine - not quite self-loathing, but something pretty close. He’d fallen so far into his own mind, become so tangled in that which troubled him, that he had not thought, and he been blind to it until this very moment.

But before he had a chance to murmur an apology and retreat, the noble ebony stallion acquiesced, and overwhelmed by gratitude, the white speckled boy nodded mutely, matching Kunžak’s unhurried pace, stealing not one but three glances behind, watching as the silhouette of Božena - beautiful in repose - become smaller as the pair of male kladrubers ventured further afield.

The answer to his question, when it came, was acknowledged by a gentle snort, focused as he was on keeping his footing. And when he fell behind, aimlessly shuffling a hoof, sending loose stones rattling, he was helpless against the torrent of his pensive thoughts. His only hope was Kunžak, whose firm nudge kept him from going under. The truth of the black stallion’s words filled Kuráž with hope and a myriad other things, touching on emotions the young male had been careful to keep close and controlled, so that his chest ached with the weight of all he’d lost, and his heart… His heart that had been mended by like-souls that had once been lost like him.

“I know, I do, it’s just…” Kuráž trailed off, sighing softly and leaning in to Kunžak’s show of paternal affection. And he said nothing more on the matter, because there was nothing to say, except; “Thank you.” When the shadow-cloaked companion of Božena withdrew, the grey flecked colt followed, brushing his soft, whiskery muzzle along Kunžak’s jaw - affection returned. “You and Božena, you are my family, and even if I could go back, change the past… I wouldn’t want to, if it meant never knowing you.”

A crooked smile settled on his lips and he ducked his chin in a sudden, fleeting moment of bashfulness. But when Kunžak spoke again, he was quick to lift raise his crown, looking up at the stallion with bright, keen eyes. “You’ve mentioned them before, a little. My mother spoke of them once too, briefly. She said they were known for their wisdom.” To Kuráž, the Dotkl were incomprehensible, mysterious figures from stories, but he knew that they were real to Kunžak, and he would welcome any knowledge the older stallion shared with him and treasure it in his heart, because even if it hurt for Kunžak to remember…

It kept their People alive.