Sunlight fell unobstructed onto the rocky slope that had hosted Faolain’s battle with Cullen. It was weak sunlight, early morning sunlight, but it was enough to wake Faolain, who still lay where she had fallen after driving Cullen away.

She didn’t remember any of it, at least not at first. Her left eye refused to open, and behind it screamed a headache of monstrous intensity. The black mare groaned, not yet rising. How could one small head fit so much headache? And why was it so bad? She had never felt this poorly after her other battles. Slowly, she began to recall the events of the previous night, and groaned again.

She had let herself get far too hurt this time. With some difficulty, Faolain struggled to her feet, swaying as she carefully gathered her legs beneath her. She prayed no one was around to see how bad this was. Even Rivaini, whom she had allowed in her space while she licked her wounds and recovered, would have brought a deep blush of shame if she caught her little shadow in such a worrisome state.

Faolain felt her heart hammering in her chest as she got her bearings. The night before was still hazy, but she was fairly certain she had won. Still, she did not recall properly driving Cullen away empty-handed. Faolain began to make her way into the shade of the forest, caution of her wounds warring with anxiety. She did not think Cullen would still be here, but she did worry about Siobhan. Had he taken her despite the loss? It would have been dirty, but the Lagoon boss was up there with the dirtiest, and Faolain would not have put it past him.

Siobhan’s scent reached her not far down the path. She was comforted to find that it was fresh, and her anxiety lifted somewhat. She didn’t want to have to follow Cullen back to the Crossing, especially in this state, but she would if she had to. She continued toward the valley, seeking out the herd and the comfort of Rivaini’s side, and the reassurance of seeing Sio with her own eyes before she settled down to tend her injuries and rest.

Before she made it within eyesight of the valley, however, she picked up on two more scents: Hades, along the same trail as Cullen, headed away from the center of the Ridge.

Faolain’s blood ran cold, and she followed this new trail, abandoning her concern over her injuries and picking up a compact canter. “Hades!” she called, her voice betraying her worry for the colt as she raced down toward the shore.