In the handful of days that had passed since her arrival, Kvothe had come to appreciate the beauty of her new home. When the days were clear, she enjoyed the sight of the distant mountains carving into the pale blue sky. And if she ever tired of that view, she could explore the forest in which she and Ironclad had sheltered that first night. Thinking of the young stallion made her heart flutter in her chest, as if it were a bird that was finally learning to take wing. But when she did not see him the morning after they’d arrived on Tinuvel - or the next - Kvothe’s happiness was shadowed by an undercurrent of dread. She could not help but to wonder if she had done something wrong for him to leave so abruptly; she still remembered the strange behavior he’d demonstrated right before she left for the Inlet. It had planted the seeds of disquiet and doubt in her thoughts.

And so the red mare worried, too, that the herd might reject her as her own family had done. She tended to keep towards the outskirts, ready to flee at the first sign of aggression. By the second uneventful day, some of the tension did ease from Kvothe’s slender body, and she did not live in constant fear of attack. But the Friesian mare was still torn between the warring desires to prevail herself upon the herd, and to keep a careful distance so that they would not have the opportunity to reject her. Unable to make a decision, Kvothe lingered in loneliness and uncertainty on the periphery of the herd, wistfully hoping that Ironclad would return with his warm smiles and kind words. Perhaps his departure had nothing at all to do with her - he was a Prince, after all, and princes surely had duties to attend to.

Was it selfish of her to hope that he might shirk those responsibilities to stay by her side?

Kvothe had begun to wander shortly after the sun began its descent, too restless to remain with the herd. The auburn mare had been strangely agitated since the previous evening, and had not eaten much over the course of the past day. Unable to sleep, she had spent the dark of night gazing at the stars and watching as strange, colorful banners of light undulated through the sky. It had been an eerie sight, but also awe-inspiring - and one that Kvothe wished she might have shared with her Prince. Along with the restless energy and turbulent emotions, Ironclad had filled her thoughts more frequently - to the point that she was certain she imagined his voice ringing out across the Inlet.

But then the chestnut mare’s dark brown eyes caught sight of him across the meadow. Kvothe’s soft, glad little cry would not have been carried far save for the help the wind offered. Even so, before it could hope to reach the greying colt’s ears, she had already begun to fly across the grass towards him, scarcely slowing until she had reached his side. Breathless and smiling, she pressed her lips to the thick arch of her stallion’s neck, as if to confirm that he was real. It was only then that Kvothe noticed that something was amiss - that his dark coat was unkempt, and his posture listed slightly to one side, favoring one of his front limbs. “My prince, you’re hurt! What happened?” She questioned, turning her attention to a bleeding wound on his withers. Stepping close enough that one of her red shoulders brushed the dark skin of his, she began to clean the abraded flesh with gentle strokes of her own tongue.

The longer she stood in Ironclad’s presence, the warmer the slender creature felt despite the brisk, wintry air that pervaded the Inlet. She had finished bathing his wound, but instead of pulling away Kvothe edged forward, continuing to wash along the young stallion’s spine with both her tongue and gentle nips of her blunt teeth.