Of course, the mares say, one echoing the other, shifting and resettling as subtly as leaves leaning in the wind before likewise coming together as gently as a canopy stretching itself to take full advantage of the sun without stealing from its neighbors. There is a unity here organic as the reciprocal nature of the forest itself, and just as evident to those who look for it. It soothes him to see such reciprocity and reinforces his resolve to cleanse the woods he calls his home.

Persephone's offer is kind, and Rille dips his dark head in acknowledgement of her compassion. “It is not so tangible a path,” he admits. His mother's macabre stories of the Forest clash mightily with the sunshine and breezes passing over his skin. Even now, glancing at the trunks surrounding them, he sees no boles resembling sneering faces nor evidence of the fairy-kin she claimed kept her company as a girl. Rille understands his dam took refuge in a deep fantasy. He has spent several years parsing through her tales for details of reality. Still, he thinks it will be another task altogether to find the clearings and stands of trees among which her father's herd frequented, especially with all the years gone by between her childhood and Rille's recent arrival on Luthien. The trees have not waited for him. “Though if you are not averse to my wandering, I would be more than happy to have your company— both of you.”

His gaze shifts to Evren to include her in this invitation, but finds her attention has fallen elsewhere. There is little opportunity for him to follow her, however, before Persephone's words catch his full attention. The silver dappled stallion turns his head, ears flicking toward her, and holds her gaze raptly. Shamwari had spoken only of maintaining peace among the island, not of any war having befallen Luthien. Rille wonders how recently that fire was set to these lands, and how much tinder it ate before Persephone, Shamwari, and their kin were able to stamp it out. He flicks an ear back the way he came, wondering over the slick song of the stream if those who last inhabited the Thicket were in some way responsible. How deep does the poison run?

“As I told Shamwari, so too shall I tell you: I have not come here to quarrel, but to establish peace within my own borders. It pleases me to expand that goal beyond the Thicket, and to join with both you and Shamwari in seeing that the island itself is a united front. Are not the healthiest woods comprised of generous trees? Is not the happiest land one of shared plenty rather than such wealth selfishly hoarded? I do not come to divide,” Rille affirms, twisting his ear toward Evren. “And rest assured I will enable no such faults among those gathered under my watch. If it is within my power to do so, I will do my part to see Luthien remains whole.”

His mahogany gaze shifts again to Evren. The subject of war had no arisen between Shamwari and himself, though it grieves him now to know such misery has befallen Luthien. Such suffering must have been tenfold, and rippling powerfully still through those who partook. Violence of that magnitude is not soon forgotten, nor should it be. “Shamwari did not speak to me of the war,” Rille says softly, transferring his gaze to Persephone. He does not ask the questions which are not his to voice, but his sentence is left open-ended, inviting either mare to speak on the subject, should they wish.