Winter had finally released its grasp on the islands, and although Atlantis didn’t experience much change in temperature, there were other markers to identify the change in season.

The Ridge had its dry season while the northern islands grew cold and snowy. Now, with spring warming most of the lands around them, the rains returned to Atlantis. The atmosphere around the Ridge’s lowlands was thick and heavy with humidity, and the sounds of the migratory birds was replaced with the near-constant pattering of rain. At the peak of the territory, however, the air was cooler, and the moisture in the air formed milky tendrils that curled around the rocks and twisted trees, clouding the steepest of mountain paths as they rose.

Once, Faolain would have spent most of her time at the highest point of her home. She still wanted to, and until recently, had easily climbed up and down the switchback trails of her mountainous territory. But as easily as she had ignored her pregnancy in the early stages, it became apparent quite suddenly with the arrival of spring, and she found it all at once too difficult to make the harsh ascent to the heights she so loved.

Instead, she found herself most days on the soft white sands of the beach, stretched out under the sun. The heat and the bedding provided relief for her aching limbs, and soothed the tense muscles of her shoulders and back. Sometimes she watched Selune and Vesper playing in the waves, and often she spotted Tyr lying in kind further down the beach with his two chestnut companions. In the beginning, she had bristled at his presence here, but now she did not mind the enormous stallion so much. He had not bothered any of her herd, and seemed interested only in the women he had brought with him. Additionally, Siobhan and Roisin had both moved on from the Ridge, and those two had been Faolain’s main concern regarding Tyr’s arrival.

Today, she did not see the big gold stallion on her beach. She was alone, curled like a great pregnant cat in the sand, slender legs tucked awkward around her swollen belly. She gazed peacefully out over the waves, dozing until a pale shape came bobbing into view and she lifted her ears with curiosity.

As the mare emerged from the waves, Faolain recognized her as the mare she had met in the Falls during the deep freeze of winter. She gathered her legs beneath her and rose without much grace, and started toward the spotted mare with a friendly nicker.

“Glad to see you’re alright,” she said, reaching with her sand-dusted muzzle to greet her friend. She had not wanted to leave the mare to weather the season alone, ill-equipped as she was to survive the cold, but she could not have stayed away from the Ridge for very long. Luckily, the air had seemed to gentle after that one frigid night, and the cold had not gotten so cruel a second time before Faolain left for Atlantis.