Winter finally released its hold on the Crossing, and the Peak’s austere crags began to bloom. Seeing the carpet of green climb slowly up the mountainside... it reminded Iscariot of the Ridge in a way that set his heart to aching. As hard as he’d tried to will it, this place still didn’t feel like home. To the perlino, the beauty of the first pale purple crocuses was only a reminder of what he’d lost in coming here. He could not see them without remembering the laughter of the children when they’d ambushed him that day, weaving flowers and feathers into his mane and spattering his pale coat with— of all the inexplicable things— mud. IAt the time, Iscariot had been aghast and embarrassed and ready to sink into the soft earth, but after—

After, when he’d slipped into the pool and scrubbed at the bits of dirt-streaked fur he could each, it occurred to the stallion what the purpose of Roisin’s plan had been. That she was only trying to lift him out of the persistent darkness of his thoughts, as he’d done for her before. And from that moment, he’d considered the dun filly to be his closest and most cherished friend. Someone he’d follow into danger and to the ends of the earth. Someone who wouldn’t let anything pull them apart. Except— except—

Except now something was. Iscariot had seen for himself how desolate the Peak was when they’d first arrived, and he understood that some things were more important than the moments that they shared together. It wasn’t that he felt abandoned; or at least, he tried not to feel that way. It was more that— that— even when they were together, Roisin still felt further away from him than she’d been before. And though the ivory male couldn’t guess whether it was sadness or a secret or something else, he was determined to find out.

Pushing through the bright new grass that tickled at his fetlocks, Iscariot headed reluctantly for the mountain’s shoulder. As a rule, he tended to avoid the higher elevations; it was difficult enough to navigate the steep, winding paths with four working limbs. But the Vulcans were known to favor them. And as he climbed, the cream-colored stallion— lungs working like a bellows— came to understand why. From up here, he felt as if he could see the entire world laid out before him. It made him feel both powerful and insignificant at the same time— because as awe-inspiring as it was to borrow the Peak’s height, it also brought to the perlino’s attention how very small he was.

And weak. Pausing on a ledge to catch his breath and still the violent trembling of his hind legs, Iscariot glanced wistfully down at his meadow and wondered what madness had convinced him to leave it.