Taytim, a name unknown to him; the Peak, however, was not. Tarrant had only dealt briefly with the Lagoon and its bachelors and the same could be said of the Peak and its Vulcans. Such a place of strength, a representation of the fight for freedom, was something any long-term resident of the islands had to know. As Ailill drew closer, Tarrant lowered his head (though it had already been held rather low, aloft rather than raised) and his dull-green eyes held a kinder light. It was the next words – the truth of Ailill’s sire – that brought Tarrant’s eyes to widen. For the first time in a long time he felt the hard beat of his heart as it pounded like a drum in his chest. His blood. This child, the next to call Atlantis home, to flourish among its tropics, was of his blood.

Emotions had overcome him, but he hadn’t felt anything great in such a long time that he was frozen. He barely managed to stretch his neck to brush his whiskered lips at Ailill’s muzzle, exchanging a short breath as he still felt shell-shocked by the truth.

Tarrant managed to pull his gaze from Ailill only because the gold and white colt danced away to move with energy around them and he ignored the sudden urge to weep with relief; to weep at what beauty life was and how circular it truly seemed. When exuberance was robbed from him it was given to another and, in turn that young man would give it back to Atlantis.

He managed to look upon Macabre and she briefly calmed the storm of emotions tearing through him. He gazed into her eyes and wondered what all they’d seen. It was as if they were kindred spirits, though strangers, he could sense there was something familiar about her. When she said they had never met, he wondered how that could be so. Then Aillill asked his name and Tarrant returned to the thoughts he’d had of the colt.

“Tarrant.”

He said, quietly. Once upon a time, that name had meant something. Again and again it had meant so much… now it was nothing, nothing but a story of a past, a story that most islanders had forgotten. The legends were no more than stars whose names had been forgotten, their homes looked upon but the history never understood.

Tarrant hesitated. If he told the truth to Ailill, the colt would know they shared a blood-bond and melting away into Atlantis may become next to impossible. Was he ready to give away the peace of nothingness? Was he ready to feel again? To face potential dangers again? Worst of all… was Tarrant ready to care again? If he didn’t speak he still held a chance to just… leave. He could share a brief conversation with this pair and then Atlantis and its jungle could claim him again.

His gaze hesitated over Aillil.

“You said your father’s name is Lyden?”

He said again, just to make certain he’d heard correctly. When Aillil did not dispute the fact, Tarrant swallowed, hearing his blood rush in his ears as his heart began to pound.

“That would make you my great grandson.”