In his heart, there was warmth. Tarrant hadn’t felt such radiating warmth in so long it almost felt, for a moment, something was wrong. A quick blink of his eyes drew sense as he refocused, realizing with sorrow it was his loneliness which had kept him from feeling this way again. He smiled kindly onto his great-grandson, proud of him even though they’d barely met. This boy was the boy a dwindling, regal lineage needed. Ailill was born of kings and princes, though the islands had long cast away such customs. He would have made his great-great-grandsire, Jareth, proud too, Tarrant knew for certain. Tarrant had spent many days of his youth walking through Tinuvel at his sire’s side, listening to his constant council of what it took to be a good leader. Tarrant had learned through his own mistakes thus following and he had no doubt Ailill would as well.

How lucky he was that he would be here to help.

He would?

Yes. He would. The solitude of the jungle no longer wanted Tarrant’s company. He was not meant for vines and silence; Tarrant needed to be an active participant in his great-grandsons life. He needed to offer all he could for Ailill, to make amends for all those he’d abandoned in the past due to his foolish, childlike behavior.

“I will stay.”

He said, and a small smile came over his mouth shortly following the words. Happiness. Tarrant had forgotten what happiness felt like. How wonderful it was. How whole it made him feel.

Tarrant glanced to Macabre, the mare he felt was a kindred spirit to his own, even without ever having met her prior to today. The smile on his mouth softened, but it did not vanish. The warmth in his chest never dulled, though it spread more evenly, felt more of love and familial pride than it did of intense burning.

He let his green eyes flicker back to his great-grandson.

“You’ve already made me proud, Ailill. You’re exactly what this place needs.”