Faolain notices the change in Björn’s demeanor, but she does not realize she has caused it - not directly at least. She watches him cautiously, making no effort to soften her gaze, which is intense but not unkind. ”I worry I have done more harm than good by coming out here,” she says quietly. ”And I’ve already caused you so much harm.”

In the past, Faolain has not felt guilt over the acquisition of the Ridge, but she does in this moment. Guilt is an unfamiliar feeling to the inky mare. She is calculated in her actions, and well aware that one cannot change the past; she does not dwell on mistakes, nor does she regret her failures. In the past, however, Faolain has not had much opportunity for empathy toward those affected by her actions. She takes consequence into consideration as much as she can when making her decisions, and there will always be times when she steps on the toes of others; but rarely does she have to face those individuals upon which she has trod. She does not know if it is good that she feels this way; does she deserve to be hurt, in return for her harmful actions? Or will she simply learn from this and move on? Either way, it is uncomfortable and unfamiliar, and she withers beneath Björn’s icy gaze as it sweeps back to her face once again.

Luckily, the subject changes when Björn asks about Sio, and Faolain answers him, grateful for the distraction. I am not entirely sure that they miss me, he says, and Faolain’s heart aches a bit for him. It is clear that he misses them, and though she has never felt this pain, she imagines it is immense. She seems to shrink all over again as Björn’s grief washes over her. She wants to assure him that they do miss him; why else would they be so distant? She realizes she has been avoiding Siobhan due to the overwhelming strength of the red mare’s grief, but she cannot speak on her behalf. On the chance she is wrong about Siobhan’s feelings, it would be a cruel trick to play on Björn. So she swallows her white lies, and instead sends a gentle puff of air in the Icelandic stallion’s direction. It isn’t much, not even a touch, but she hopes the warmth from her breath will be of some comfort.

”I’ve come to notice,” she says with a hint of dry humor at Björn’s comment about choosing friends. ”I decided to poke the wolf next door just to see what would happen… I didn’t really imagine he’d want to be my friend anyway.” she chuckles quietly. It had not gone as disastrous as she had imagined, but she still does not think Rougaru is happy with her meddling.

With a sigh, Faolain turns to look out over the ocean. She should return to the Ridge, but the cold of Tinuvel is pleasant now on her skin after she has adjusted to it. The life here in the Inlet is so different than that in the Ridge, but it is vibrant in its own way; and just as Faolain has come to feel as one with the jungle, a sleek big cat at home in the shadows of the dense verdant green, Björn is a bear in his territory. He fits here in a way no one else can, and something about seeing this change in him is alluring to Faolain. It feels to her like a connection, in that surely no other herd leaders are as fundamentally part of their land as the two horses on the pebbled beach are. Maybe she would stay just a moment longer.