Difficult as it is to admit it, I had hoped coming here would help get you out of my head. Atlantis was meant to be a fresh start: a land far removed from everything we knew, where my brother and I could swim, doze on the white-sand beaches to our heart's content, or watch the summer storms beneath palm fronds so large and waxy the rain got nowhere near us.

It was meant to be a land where we could live in the moment, and not think or be at each other's throats for once.

And to a degree, it has been that: for my brother, at least. That fool went and knocked up the odd lady leader duo of this place, and now he's a father to not one, but two fillies. I laughed when I first heard what he did, but seeing him with his daughters now, it's difficult to even smile. Sometimes I get such an awful feeling in the pit of my stomach I have to walk away.

He has the life you and I almost had.

These days, I spend most of my time alone. I've become that weird uncle: the grumpy one who doesn't make small talk with the others, who melts into the shadows of the jungle without warning, and whose red hair is always a tangled mess because he almost never lets anyone touch him.

The thing is, when I'm away from them, I don't feel alone. Those are the times your voice is loudest.

I'm listening for you now, in fact, while I rest on the beach away from the others. Though it never truly gets cold on Atlantis, the cooler and drier winter air makes me appreciate the sun-warmed sand all the more.

I'm thinking about how much you hated sand - specifically, how it has a tendency to get stuck in the areas in which it's least welcome - when I hear the faint sound of sobbing coming from further up the beach.

I lift my head and squint against the bright sunshine to see the silver-haired form of a mare collapsed on the sand in grief. At first I think it's Rivaini, and I stand - shaking the sand from my roan coat - with the intention of moving further away to give her some privacy. The last thing I need right now is a crying woman.

Something stops me, though, and before I know it, I'm creeping closer to her - close enough, eventually, to see that she's a complete stranger. She's too lost in her grief to notice me, so I stand awkwardly for a moment, debating whether to check on her or leave her alone.

It's thinking of you, and the last time I saw you cry, that cinches it for me.

"Um," I say, my voice coming out rougher than I intended. "Miss? Are you… all right?"