The half-deaf mare had not seen Charybdis since their time in the cave by the sea, imprisoned by the tide. She had, of course, seen the two foals the mares had delivered on the stony floor that night, but every time she spotted one of them, it seemed to surprise her. Faolain kept expecting the stubborn little creature to die. She did not deny him milk when he asked for it, though she wondered if Charybdis was also nursing him, wherever she was. Faolain was well aware that her sense of time was more than a little messed up, but she still felt as though days at a time would pass between sightings of the colt.

When the bellow rings out faintly through the jungle, Faolain is pulled from her thoughts. Thoughts of Chary, and of the red child she had borne, and of the mysterious little roan colt Faolain herself had brought into the world. She shakes her head, partially to rid her deaf ear of ringing whispers, mostly to wake herself up from the state of half-consciousness. She does not immediately react to the voice, except that after a second or two, she turns toward it; she does not recognize its source, nor does she associate it with impending danger. There is just someone out there, calling out to someone else.

Maybe to her?

The thought is absurd; as her thoughts solidify and attach a little more firmly to reality, Faolain realizes that maybe the outsider is looking for Charybdis – but Charybdis isn’t here, or isn’t anywhere Faolain has been able to find her within the confines of the jungle, anyway. It still takes a moment for the spindly mare to make the connection that perhaps she should investigate in Charybdis’s place.

She drifts down the slope of the Ridge, tired and ungraceful, but keeping her footing well enough. Her balance hasn’t been the same since the damage to her ear. She has had to adjust a bit to adapt, but she has adapted, in the end.

The shade pulls away from Faolain’s dark eyes suddenly, and she squints, her face twisting in surprise as though she hadn’t expected to emerge onto the beach so suddenly. She growls, screwing her eyes shut, listening to the wet, heavy footfalls of the outsider as they part with the ocean. Cautiously, she cracks an eyelid.

A giant of a stallion towers over her on the beach. Faolain recognizes him, and recalls some oddly mixed feelings at the sight of him, but she remembers no past interactions. She suspects they may have fought at some time, but she does not fear him, and can’t tell if that is the fault of her head trauma or because of a complicated relationship. In any case, he casts a massive shadow, and without putting much thought into her decision, Faolain moves to stand within it. Outside of the blinding sun, she relaxes a bit, and vaguely remembers a different time on the beach years ago.

“Well,” she says, voice gravelly but neutral. “What are you doing here?”