Dawn arrived, washing the sky in pale pinks and lavenders that deepened in the sun’s lambent glow. The first of its rays found Iscariot atop the sentinel’s perch that was typically occupied by one of the Ridge’s guardians - watching the jungle come to life below him not in vigilance, but in reflection.

The reunion with Faolain had done much to restore the pale stallion’s contentment, but had also proven that there was no turning back. Things had changed - mostly for the better, but also in ways that were complicated and confusing. Rivaini had been his only companion for the first years of his life, and he’d never thought of himself as incomplete. Not with her at his side. But since the siblings’ arrival on the islands, that was no longer the case - while the silver bay was still the foundation that Iscariot’s world rested upon, she was no longer alone at its center. Nor was he the only target of his sister’s fierce protectiveness and devotion.

He had seen the softness in her eyes when she gazed at Faolain, and knew it to be a reflection of his own. Was it so strange that their hearts should be united in what they loved? They had shared so many of life’s trials - and so many of their own thoughts and emotions - with one another that at times, it was difficult for Iscariot to tell if the contents of his heart and mind were his own, or a reflection of what RIvaini felt. Regardless, he felt the need to take a step back from the chaotic tangle of his own emotions - and to let the two mares enjoy one another’s company more intimately. And perhaps, having granted them this boon, Iscariot might feel less selfish to ask the same of Faolain in the near future.

Would he bare himself to her, if they shared this ledge together to bask in the light of the stars? Could he find such courage within himself, if the warmth of her skin rested against his?

A childish voice penetrated the fog of Iscariot’s thoughts, and his pale blue eyes glimpsed the small golden figure through a gap in the canopy below. The song that she sang had no words, but it called to the creamy stallion in a way that he could not begin to explain - an invitation to shed his worries, to enjoy the innocence of youth again. And Iscariot answered, silencing the dubious voice of his own doubts as he picked his way carefully down the rocky trail. Children had always captivated him, but not until this moment had he possessed the freedom - and bravery - to interact with them. In Antilla, dams had hurried to snatch their children away from the crippled stallion, as if fearful that prolonged contact might spread his affliction. And even after they had come to Atlantis, the memory of these mares’ often-painful rebukes had given Iscariot cause to keep his distance.

By the time that he located the sabino filly, she was thoroughly engrossed in her game of sorting feathers. For a long moment, the perlino Andalusian contented himself to watch, a vaguely-tender smile curling the corners of his pale lips upward. It wasn’t until Siobhan’s daughter hesitated, her gaze flicking between the feather she held and two piles, that Iscariot felt himself moving forward, and heard his own soft voice speaking into the fragile silence. “It could belong easily with either - but why not lay it between the two piles?” Overcoming his initial hesitation, the pale stallion spoke with more certainty when he continued. “If you’ve ever seen a rainbow up close, then you know that the colors aren’t so distinctly separated. They bleed into one another, and in doing so create a number of shades beyond counting.”

He remembered himself a moment later, and dropped his gaze with a flush that would be visible around the pink skin of his inner ears. “Oh - I’m Iscariot. My friend Faolain and my sister Rivaini are guardians to the Ridge.”