Diamant

Het Vuur. The fire.

Inka had told him little of the stallion, but the name was at least familiar. He had an inkling, too, of the reputation Het Vuur had carried: how he had been great and powerful once, even feared. But Diamant had never considered the idea that Het Vuur could have been his father. The idea was too abstract; it swam around in his brain like a fish in a river while he struggled to catch hold of it.

Then there was the rest of what Merete was saying to contend with: Het Vuur was her father, and Inka's father too, which made Merete his sister. Which also made Inka, the mare who had raised him as her son, his sister. Right before his eyes his family tree was being shattered and rebuilt. He felt dizzy and shaky and hot. He did not know which of these mind-bending revelations to dwell on first.

So he talked instead.

"Inka said he was my grandfather. I never met him - he died around the time I was born. Inka is dead now, too. I never learned anything about my parents - I would never have even known had she not accidentally let it slip. She died before I could find out anything else. Aren't the fates cruel?"

His eyes were downcast, staring at nothing. His mouth was a firm line. "I only know of one mare who was with Het Vuur: the mare Inka referred to as my grandmother, who died the same day as him. As if they couldn't stand to be apart, Inka said. Her name was Sterre."