Too late, and Shenzi realised that her earlier reconsideration of word choice had come too late. “I did not mean - ” she was quick to interject. It dawns on her that it was important for her that Róisín not misunderstand - the bay and white mare’s opinion of her mattered, more than anyone else’s had in a long time. “It was not a judgment on you or your sisters,” Shenzi attempts to smoothly reassure. For all that Shenzi did not know the Vulcan mares much at all beyond faces, names and positions, she still held them in far higher regard than the men of the Lagoon.

She listens in attentive silence as the General continues, but her expression darkens at the words she hears. “They made you promises?” And before she can stop it, a cynical bark of laughter forces its way up her throat. But then Shenzi composes herself, and grudgingly ackowledges the cracks in her armour that she’s spent so long trying to deny. “Perhaps my memory of what they were blinds me to what they’re trying to be,” she murmurs, her tone apologetic, but it was flat and short-lived. “But I’d trust your judgment every time, over whatever vows they claim to have made.” And why? Because in Róisín, Shenzi sensed something of herself.

Of what she had been, before the islands, and the men who walked them, had torn at her heart, and left her to stitch the pieces back together.

“I’m sorry,” Shenzi says in response to the two-syllable admission, I do. There is true empathy in her voice, and though she parts her lips again, a heartbeat later and the scarred barb mare closes them, because who is she (who is she?) to ask after the ghosts that haunt the General. Shenzi knows what it is to have wounds opened time and time again, so that healing feels impossible, and the last thing she wants, here and now, is to be the one who bleeds Róisín anew.

“Yours is a rare spirit, Róisín,” Shenzi says gruffly, her voice catching in her throat at the sudden swell of emotion that the General’s final words stir up in her. “No matter where life takes me, I’ll never forget you, or your kindness.” It’s a promise she offers freely and without regret, even though the words of her mother prickle at the back of her mind; ahadi ni deni. And if she could, she’d bask in this moment far longer, but the brightness in her is dampened by words spoken only moments ago.

Despite herself, Shenzi feels her heart quiver as if it senses what’s coming. It is the way life toys with her, and she is familiar with it by now - no sooner does she manage to find a scrap of peace or a sliver of happiness, it comes under threat, and Shenzi has to fight or take flight. Perhaps, one day, she’d look back with eyes no longer so jaded, and be grateful. All these tests, they’ve made her strong, and maybe someday she’d find purpose for her strength.

But first, she needs to rid herself of the thorn in her side, burrowed in deep and leaking poison.

So, it is with a tightness in her chest and a barely disguised tremble in her voice (of anger - that Rade would claim to know her, having never once showing her his face or deigning to speak to her? Of agony and anguish - longing for one beyond her reach for so long, and longer still through Shenzi’s own shame?) that she turns to Róisín and hoarsely asks of her a name. “Who is this enemy?”