It was frustration that gripped the stallion as he looked out over the raging seas. The weather had set in faster than he had expected, creating angry waves that crashed into his shores.With every spray of the salty water he could feel his heart sink. He had promised he would try to visit one more time. One last time before the winter truly hit and the waters became impassible. Fate had stepped in too soon. In an attempt to ease his frustration, Pagan’s patrols became more frequent. More than anything, he paced the borders of the Inlet instead of actually ‘patrolled’. Occasionally he stopped to sniff at patches of shrubs, or contemplate the shelter of rocks and thickets. Somewhere in his mind he stored what he had found and thought about the movements of the herd. Yet still his thoughts wandered. They reached to the cliffs of the Peak, hoping that she would be happy, possibly even hoping that she would forget him just as she assumed he would forget her. With each step he tried to push the thoughts further away, and failed. He seemed to always wonder about the ones just out of his reach. When he could keep watch over those he care about he had a deep sense of contentment. Their lives were his, and he could give everything to protect and defend them. When his heart and his mind reached out to those he could not see worry filled the lines of his face. It had happened when the seasons shifted and Peyton had lingered just beyond the border. Now it troubled him again with Amica on a different island. The one sense of comfort was that she was with others who would see that she was cared for. Dark eyes scanned the crashing waves, the cold wind starting to blow through his thick mane. There was a form he could see in the water, struggling against the current. Gaze narrowed and he began to make his way down the paths to the beach. When the form started to pull itself he recognized the buckskin coat. More than anything he knew the uncertain way in which she moved. The voice that called out only further confirmed who it was, making the panic explode in the vanner’s chest. His own voice called out to her as his hooves pounded against the rocks to reach her. On the beach he pulled up to her, nose traveling over her body to assure both her and himself that she was okay. His breathing was deep, hitching with concern. Once he was sure she was safe and whole, he rested his face for a moment against her neck. Amica… His voice was soft, unbelieving that she was there and she had made it through the waters. Gently he moved his body against her, offering his warm to fight against the wet and the cold. He did not tell her she should not have come, he was happy she was here. He did not demand to know why she had risked herself to come to his island, he was willing to risk it to get to her. No, instead he pressed against her body to guide her from the beach. Though the wind was cold, the weather was dry. With enough warmth the tremors of cold would subside and there was still enough grass to give strength. He moved her up the path towards the field the herd had been gathered, raising his own call into the air to call the others if they wanted to meet and help the cold mare.