That sound. The soft, rasping nicker of a creature who was capable of inflicting great harm (had she seen it? There was a brief flash, but nothing more), a scarred beast whose voice softened for her. As if she was the water that flowed over his stone, wearing it smooth. In a short time, that sound had become the center of Kvothe’s world. It grounded her even as her spirits soared, calmed her even as her heart began to drum more rapidly against her ribs. And like a key turning in the figurative lock of her mind, it brought everything back in an overwhelming, exhilarating rush. I want to keep you safe. I want to raise this child together, like we should have done the last.

Then those things faded, dissolving in the humid air like the final note of Tyr’s call.

Kvothe was still there, however, in the warmth of her gaze as she watched the gold stallion emerge. She was still there in the unconscious smile that curled her lips; a reflex that no loss of memory could erase. While the mare’s mind might not remember him, it was clear enough that her heart had never forgotten. That there were some things no amount of time or suffering could change.

You’ve been crying again. Like Tyr’s perceptiveness and sensitivity to her moods, perhaps. Or the way the Friesian’s chocolate eyes slid downward, unable to meet another’s when she lied. “Oh, that.” Kvothe said in a carefully-light tone, turning her attention to the smears of earth along her side and seizing the idea that the sight gave her. “It wasn’t because— because of that. I slipped and fell — right after I’d just finished picking burrs out of my coat, no less.” There was enough rueful irritation in her voice to make her statement convincing, perhaps because it was mostly true. The only fault that might be found in her claim was that Kvothe had never been one for fits of vanity.

Leaning into the brush of her companion’s lips, the red woman seemed to recognize that fault. She continued speaking with barely a pause — attempting to steer the conversation away from herself as she did.

”But at least I don’t have vines tangled up in my mane and scratches all along my side. What have you been doing — trying to conquer the jungle by force?” Kvothe laughed, a sound that was as genuine as it would be unexpected. She’d rarely laughed in her old life; the sound had always struck her as cruel for reasons that she could no longer recall. But now it warmed her expression even more, glowing in the depths of her dark eyes like embers when she leaned forward to tug playfully at Tyr’s forelock before letting it fall back down over his green eye. “So — who won?” She asked with the same warm, affectionate humor. “The brave, strong stallion… or those big, mean trees?”

Laughing again, she brushed her dark lips along the curve of the dunalino’s neck before starting to pluck fragments of vine from his pale mane with her teeth.