The fleeting smile and subtle turn of the black mare's head warned that Jörmungandr had touched upon a delicate subject. Her ears swivel forwards in concern, listening silently as the mare speaks. Her words are confusing to the buckskin mare; how could that right be stripped from her and why? Had the foal died or was it taken? If it had been taken, was it straight from Azazel’s side or was it much as Jörmungandr had been taken by the gamla tík? She often wonders what her Chianti thought at the time, and what she thinks now, about Olaf and herself disappearing without a trace.

This is no time to dwell in the past. She reaches out to place a comforting nuzzle against the black mare’s shoulder, ”You will always be a mother”. It doesn’t matter where the child ends up. Once you've given birth and felt the pang of love for your foal, you are a mother forever. She wonders if that’ll be what it’s like when her foal is born. She also wonders if Azazel will have another now that she is in a safe, secure and loving herd but chooses not to voice her curiousity.

Talk moves back to the buckskin’s unborn child and she can see her companion visually brighten as well as feeling the sombre mood lift. She comments on Jörmungandr and Lyden’s eyes and the buckskin can’t help but think back once more to her own younger years. "Mmmm, I hope that is all he or she inherits and is much better behaved than I was." she chuckles.