Iscariot watched the world crumble around him, powerless to stop it - and it broke his heart.

It was disorienting how quickly a dark cloud could blot out the sun - how quickly happiness could become sorrow. One moment the perlino stallion had been filled to bursting with joy and love. In but a single year, he’d been given more than he’d ever dreamed of possessing. The Ridge felt like home in a way that Antilla never had. And in the moments that he paused to reflect - moments that had become fewer as he filled his day with more joyful pursuits - Iscariot knew that it was because of those whom he shared it with. Rivaini had always been beside him, an unwavering source of the love that he craved. But she had been joined now by Faolain, who had taught the ghostly male what real strength was. By Roison and Akadi, who had shown him how to shed life’s burdens. Even Siobhan and Ailill and the others whom he’d not had enough chance to acquaint himself with were more family to him than his birth-herd had ever been.

But he had failed them - no, failure was too generous. Failure implied that he had tried, and Iscariot had not. He had done nothing when Rougaru had challenged Faolain for the promise of a child. Nothing when the large, dark stallion and then the familiar chocolate mare had thrown themselves at Siobhan in turn. He had only watched while the chestnut mare was driven into the sea once again. Had only followed when Rivaini had taken off in pursuit of Paradise’s ruler, and failed even in that small endeavour. At first he had feared that his sibling would not return, but by the time he’d found his way back to the Ridge, she’d already been home - as if she had never left at all. And while she offered no explanation for her absence - and Iscariot asked for none - he suspected. Between the heavy scent of Rougaru that had clung to her coat, and the subdued manner in which she’d spoken… it hadn’t been hard to guess what she had done, and why.

After he’d left her sleeping fretfully in the waning light of that terrible day, Iscariot had wept until his chest ached and his lungs burned.

And he kept the secret.

Compared to the sacrifice of his sibling, the weight of this truth should have been small - but it wasn’t. It consumed his waking thoughts, wove itself into his dreams. Like the grief that he saw eroding Roison’s jubilant demeanour, it was as inescapable as the passage of time, or the cycle of the tides. And as sorrow took root everywhere in his home, Iscariot felt that those he loved were drifting away from him, but he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to fix it. So he wandered instead, taking up the patrols that Rivaini had not done since her return. It was a small contribution - particularly since he couldn’t hope to fight off any intruders that he encountered - but it comforted Iscariot nevertheless to feel like he was watching over them. That he was helping to protect them from further harm.

It took the sound of Roison’s sobs to show the perlino how wrong he’d been. That he should have been with them, cauterizing the wounds that had already been inflicted. What did it matter, after all, if he tried to protect them when they were already hurting? Abandoning the faint trail he’d been following, the ghostly creature began to climb upwards towards the source of the sound, ignoring the throbbing ache that plagued his hind limbs. He might not have been able to save them, but the sorrowful cries were evidence that Iscariot was needed, that he could still do something, and it gave him strength.

The trees thinned as he rose, revealing the red figure of his young friend - and the shadowy body of Faolain, as well. Glancing significantly at the black ‘Teke, he did not pause but went straight to the filly’s side, and pressed the pale curve of his lips to her forehead. "Roison?" He breathed in his soft, gentle voice. "It’s okay to cry, Roison. Or at least, I hope it is - because I’ve made more than my own share of tears." It was one of the many things his sired had condemned him for; being too emotional, being too soft. As if a stoic expression determined whether or not the creature who wore it was strong.

His muzzle shifted, stroking the silken fringe of her forelock in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. Something Siobhan might do, if she hadn’t been cruelly wrenched from her daughter’s side. "But you should never cry alone, Roi," he said after a pause. "As Rivaini used to tease me when I’d sneak off alone after our father said something cruel - ‘if tears weren’t meant to be shared, they’d be silent’. And, well - I’m not your mother, but I still care about you, Roi. And I’m here for you, unless-" He pulled away briefly, drawing back enough to meet her eyes.

"-unless you’d rather I go. Then I’ll go. But that still won’t change how I feel about you. And you can always find me if you need to talk, or - or anything. I'd do anything for you, and so would Fae."