He had been surprised by her honesty.

After her play at power, she had stepped away from him, distancing herself though she did not try to leave his company. He had stood - watching her as she watched him - reflecting and wondering. When Olaf spoke, she had hesitated, closing a little of the distance she'd previously put between them.

An overwhelming feeling of protectiveness had rushed over him at her admission before it was rapidly displaced by the earlier gnaw of jealousy; two foals, she had had. Only two. Two foals that were not his. She and they had suffered for it - one dead and the other seemingly a wretch if the way she spoke of him gave Olaf any indication. He had forced his breath to be slow and steady, fighting against the anger and jealousy that knotted and twisted in his gut.

Her rhetorical question had brought him out of those thoughts. Listening quietly as she continued to speak. The Gods could be cruel, that much he understand and agreed with. Both of them would be stronger for their trails though, savouring the good when it came their way. Her woes did not please him yet they benefited him, just as his benefited her. She would remain with him now, their lives intertwined for an eternity to come, not because he forced her, but because it is what she wanted. It had been an odd admission to hear – that she wanted to continue her life with him – and likely an admission that he would not hear again in this lifetime.

The speckled mare had melted away from him then, refusing to give every piece of her to him. Her soul and body were her own, she had told him. The fact that she had her own mind and acted on her own instincts was drove him to keep her close. "You are mine" he had told her, risking her wrath to close the distance between them and bump his nose against her strong shoulder, "The Gods have mercy on the fools who try and take you from me ,for I will not. and he meant that. Should another stallion try to take her, he would fight tooth and hoof to keep her at his side. ”But you are every bit your own, always". There had been a distinction in there that would remain everlasting – always his, and never his.

Olaf had driven her to his home soon after, directing her across land and sea to emerge on the sandy shore of the dunes. They had remained beside the river for a time, until the soaring temperatures of summer and heavy rainfall had driven them to seek the shelter away from sun and the river that had already burst its banks. Despite the temperature and thunderstorms decreasing, there was little reason to move once more so they remained at the oasis.

On this particular late summer day, Olaf stood away from the clear pool on his right. His golden eyes scanned the horizon, ears swivelling in response to every snapped twig and bird call that broke the relative silence of their sancuary. Warsong, as always, was never far from his sight. Last time he had chanced a glance at her she had been beneath one of the ironwoods, either dozing or purposefully ignoring him – he didn't much care to disturb her to find out.