”Come here, Cal,” the frosted mare nickers. Caliber obediently bounds to her side. Listening to Mercury is of the utmost importance to him, because Mercury knows everything and Caliber has to keep her safe. He sticks himself proudly to her flank, keeping up as she walks again toward the Lagoon border. It’s always the border. The little black colt doesn’t know why, but he never objects to their patrols, never complains that Mercury walks back and forth countless times before retreating into the dark depths of the Lagoon. He assumes she is just watching out for the dead horse.

In truth, Mercury is waiting for Soljor. Caliber never asks, so the young mother never tells him; instead, she is vaguely grateful for his silence, and promises herself she’ll be a mother to him as soon as they are out of this wretched swamp. They walk in silence once again, another day of silent walks to add to the growing list of silent days.

As usual, the Gypsy stallion has not come. Mercury’s ears fall, as they have taken up the habit of doing; Soljor hadn’t explicitly said he’d come to get her, but he said he’d go to Felony. Mercury has seen not a trace of either since Synder’s disastrous birth, and she grows more and more tense each day with impatience and fear and ignored grief.

Once again they begin to head back. The sun is high in the sky and it is warm, too warm for Mercury. She fiercely misses the cool seasons of Tinuvel, the snowy springs and lukewarm summer afternoons, relaxing with Synder or Dexter and avoiding or sometimes sparring with Shale. Those days Mercury had been happy, but she had been too young to recognize happiness. She knows now, at least, what it was like to be unhappy, though she should not yet be old enough. At barely three, Mercury should not yet know how to be miserable.

Caliber senses his mother’s agitation sometimes, though he doesn’t share it. He does his best not to make it worse by doing the stupid things all the other foals do, but he hasn’t ever seen a relaxed Mercury so he can’t tell if he’s doing anything right. Still, he assures himself often that he would be able to tell if he were doing something wrong, so he carries on being quiet and close but out of the way.

As they walk back to their little corner, Caliber nudges his mother’s legs a bit. He’s unusually insistent today, and Mercury looks down at him in confusion as the painted colt continues to bump into her moving limbs. ”What is it?” she asks, but Caliber only continues his nonsense. He wants her to run with him, because a good romp never hurt anyone and he thinks she’s too tightly wound today. Mercury begins lifting her legs out of his way, then rearing and pivoting to avoid him (he has a very hard head) and finally she trots a small circle around him so that he can’t hit her anymore.

But he keeps it up, and Mercury responds accordingly, though it takes her a minute to realize this is playing. After that, she gives a buck or two, almost enjoying herself, then kicks out at the air. The two of them leap around for a few minutes before the sound of footsteps in the mud a ways off alerts them, and Mercury stills and pricks up her ears.

He or she (probably he) must be new. No Lagoon rat is ever this noisy.

While Mercury might have stayed put and ignored this newcomer, Caliber trots off purposefully in his direction, and she follows rather than call after him. The stallion they find in the mud is big in comparison to Mercury and even bigger in comparison to Caliber, but the colt doesn’t slow his march. Mercury follows uncertainly after him, wary of the stranger and slightly worried for Caliber’s safety, but the colt is unafraid.

Caliber stops next to the stallion, his front feet in the mud and his back feet on the slightly higher, slightly drier ground.

”Caliber,” he righteously demands, little black head held high.