She refuses to think of it.

It is irresponsible, she knows, but she cannot bring herself to dwell on her decision, or to examine the threads of fate that have lead to this predicament.

The jungle is kind to her, in this respect. There are always things to look at here, always something new to draw the eye to distract her from the pain that she holds within her heart. Winter has returned, and with it, an explosion of feathered creatures that gather to the tallest limbs and flock from branch to branch. Their cacophony is a welcome distraction and the trails down the familiar path with her head bowed and ears flicking to and fro.

It is rare for Siobhan to be alone, although such an occurrence has grown more frequent after Bjorn's visit. Normally her golden lover waits at her side, eager to do what he can to soothe her troubled heart. If not him, then it is often one of her beautiful daughters requesting her attention to see some new trick they'd learned or new animal they'd discovered. It is unusual for her to be unchaperoned by someone that knows her or her follies, and a small part of her revels in the freedom that it offers.

She does not regret being a mother. No part of her could ever come to regret Roisin, even if the thought of her daughter's bright father threatens to break her heart anew. It was a different pain than that of losing Laoise, but no less sharp for the different shape of the blade. Siobhan isn't sure she can stomach seeing the confusion and betrayal on her daughter's face as she looked upon her mother, too young to understand the complicated emotions that swirled in her heart. The hurt on Ro's face upon realizing they weren't going to the Inlet, at least not yet, lingered in Siobhan's mind, and flashed every time she close her eyes and she wasn't certain that Ro would ever forgive her.

But how did you explain such affairs of the heart to a child? For whom love was neither linear nor complicated. To whom loving one did not mean that you could not love another, and for whom labels were reserved for the flowers and the feathers and the birds.

Siobhan's steps were measured as she walked the familiar path, allowing her pale hooves to sink into the decaying leaves beneath her feet. She loses herself in the rhythm of her walk to such a degree that the sound of someone else's voice causes her to startle sideways with a small gasp of surprise.

As her gaze focuses on the golden mare, Sio realizes that it is yet another stranger she does not know. Months ago, such a thing would have been strange to her, for she once considered herself the welcoming committee of the Ridge, but so much had changed in such a relatively short time. She does not know this mare's name, but does recognize her as the one that had approached the tall tobiano stallion on the beach first, before the black mare that laid claim to the Ridge. She is one of Faolain's then, at last.

The red mare re-orients herself to approach, allowing a soft smile to ghost across her lips. She had done her best to avoid Faolain and each of the few individuals that she had brought to the Ridge, but a conversation with a stranger would be a welcome distraction. This spotted stranger would have no knowledge of her mistakes, save those that she committed today, and could not judge her for her confused heart.

"Pardon me, I didn't expect to see anyone up this way." She inclines her head in greeting and settles a short distance away, her gaze flicking upward toward the swirling masses of birds that sang overhead. "They're beautiful, aren't they?"

Her smile deepens at the memory of last winter, and how she'd once watched these self-same flocks overhead. "I don't think we've met before. I'm Siobhan."

Finally, her amber eyes return to the spotted mare, and her smile grows. She'd forgotten how nice it was to simply socialize without worrying about the politics of the moment, or the balance of power, or matters of the heart. How nice it might be if she could once again have a friend within the Ridge.