After a moment of silence - during which it felt as if Kvothe’s stomach had been filled with stones - the unfamiliar creature spoke. And in the response that he offered, she felt hope swell in her chest, bursting through the iron chains that had kept her lungs from filling themselves with air. In an excess of gratitude, she expressed herself as any of her kind would - by brushing the soft velvet of her lips quickly against his, tasting the scent contained in his breath. Familiarizing herself with the stallion whom she was already determined to follow, beguiled by the words that she did not recognize as lies. How could she, when no one had ever been anything but bluntly, cruelly honest with the red filly who had been so different than those she’d grown up amongst?

From them, Kvothe knew as well that she was ugly, undesirable - despite Ironclad’s kindness and willingness to overlook these faults. It made her blind to the heat and intensity of Tyr’s gaze, to the wanting that lurked in the shadowed depths of his mismatched eyes. Instead, she only perceived warmth there, and a genuine desire to help - and in turn, responded with a warmth of her own, a warmth born of gratitude far more than attraction. However handsome this stranger may or may not have been, her heart had already been claimed by her Prince. And where her heart belonged, so too was yielded possession of her loyalty, and her body. Nevertheless, she smiled as she fell in readily beside the bachelor’s taller, heavier figure, the pitted scar that marred one of her cheeks briefly washed in moonlight.

She would never have left Ironclad’s kingdom willingly, save for the fear that she might fail him in allowing their daughter to suffer neglect - or worse.

Only for a moment did Kvothe feel a prick of doubt as she tasted the brine of salt on the wind, and listened to the mournful sea-song that it also carried. Pike had never shown any inclination to enter the sea before, preferring instead to make a game of fleeing from the grasping waves with childish screams that somehow combined terror and delight. But as her thoughts turned to how frightened and hungry the palomino filly must be - a thought echoed by the growing ache of her unsuckled udders - the slender chestnut’s moment of clarity was buried beneath the concern of any mother for her child. “It’s not my wish to be a burden to you,” Kvothe began, a flush of blood pooling unseen beneath the soft red of her coat. “But if you are willing, then I am grateful.”

As she took the first step forward, her brown eyes probed the darkness around them for the familiar figure of Ironclad. If she left without telling him, her Prince would undoubtedly worry. But she could not ask further forbearance from her companion, who had already offered more than she had any right to expect from a stranger. And if he spoke truly, even a single moment’s delay could be enough to bring about the very calamity that she feared. “Let’s go,” she breathed into the softness and dark of the night. When she returned with Pike, there would be plenty of time to explain to Ironclad what had happened - and to make her apologies for allowing her vigilance to lapse.

Huddling closer to him as another burst of cold wind assaulted them, Kvothe swallowed her fears and misgivings, surrendering her trust - and herself - to a wolf wearing sheep’s skin.