Marko paws the ground at the border of the Lagoon impatiently. His hazel eyes flick here and there in the darkness, watching for any movement. For an agonizingly long time, there is nothing.

Soft, careful hoofbeats break the silence of the night, and Marko’s ears perk forward, though his face remains stony. The white-slashed form of his brother materializes through the trees, slowing as he approaches, and Marko lets out an irritated sigh as the older stallion slinks back.

“You’re supposed to be back already,” he snaps, but Kristjan walks past him with hardly a glance.

“You think I don’t know?” he mutters. Marko turns to follow, his own painted (but slightly paler) coat sliced over by bands of moonlight through the trees. “It’s stupid. I wouldn’t leave at all if I could just bring her back with me. It’s like I’d be forcing anyone or keeping a captive.”

The younger brother keeps pace with his elder, saying nothing, until finally they come to a halt at the edge of the Lagoon’s namesake. The land goes from lush and green to stony as it drops into the blue-green water. The volcanic origins of the atoll make the land’s edge seem exaggerated somehow; the stone is black and smooth, the soil above it fertile and damp. The surface of the water is dark, but it seems to glow from somewhere deep within.

Marko sighs, irritated with and sympathetic towards his brother in equal measures. “Maybe this isn’t the place for us anymore,” he says quietly.