Siobhan had passed the never-ending night by burying her muzzle against the warn comfort of Ailill's body, and counting the stars. When she could find no more stars to count she turned to counting the leaves instead, and when even those ran out, she turned to numbering the breaths of her golden lover. They did not speak; not of their love for one another, or reassurances for her fate. They simply waited together in the dark. She had once been the fierce queen that was willing to do anything for her herd and family, but time and trauma had reduced her to a quivering, tearful mess.

Siobhan wished that she could have cradled her children to her breast and pressed reassuring kisses to their faces. The thought that this may have been the last time that she would see them for months (or even forever, although her heart shied away from this possibility) was heart-rending, but she couldn't afford to lead Cullen or Nyimara to where the children were. To where Zvaid was. And so she had spent the night separately, trusting the other Ridge guardians to keep the precious youth of the Ridge safe while the battle raged.

And it had raged.

Siobhan had flinched at each distant scream, and shuddered with each faint blow that she imagined. She spent every single second fearing that the golden Lagoon stallion would come charging after her again as he had that day so many years ago. That instead of Ysabel crumpling to the ground, it would be her, and that this time, he would finish the job before he left. When the battle fell quiet, her anxiety skyrocketed. But as the seconds stretched into minutes and unfolded into hours, Siobhan no longer knew what to think.

She could imagine, well enough, what might be occurring on the shore of her beloved home. Of the trauma that Cullen might yet inflict on the Ridge guardian if he had come out successful in the battle. Faolain had not been eager to take her offer, and Siobhan doubted that Cullen would go for such an exchange either. After all, if he had won, the red mare would be at his mercy anyway and there would be nothing to stop him from claiming both of them in such a way.

Terrified, she did not leave her lover's side until dawn broke over their beloved home and bathed it in a brand new light. Even with the changing on the day, she might have continued to stay hidden and afraid if it were not for the faint sound of Faolain's voice as she called out for the fierce little red colt. Concern broke her stillness and erased the paralyzing effect that fear had had on her, allowing her pale hooves to carry her toward Faolain's voice. New hope, emboldened by Faolain's presence rather than Cullen's, made her more eager and she nearly raced by him on her way to check on the shadow-cloaked mare.

Hades had always been such a strong personality that Siobhan had never thought of him as small. Not even as a knock-kneed newborn. He had a way of taking up space so adamantly and assuredly that Siobhan had never been able to lose track of where Rivaini's bright son was.

And yet, she nearly ran right past him.

It was only the tang of fresh blood, overlaid with the powerful musk of the Lagoon stallion that caused her steps to hesitate and therefore her eye catch the flash of brilliant orange against the verdant foliage. She turned to it - half expecting a trap of some kind - and her heart immediately sank. She did not yet see his injury, but the aftermath of the attack - the marks and the blood and the tears, glowed up at her wetly against the dark caramel color of his face. Siobhan's breath caught in her chest, and then exhaled in a soft oh of dismay as she moved hesitantly closer, her pale muzzle dropping down toward him. Every part of her feared the worst. That the bright, bitey Ridge Prince lay dead beneath the morning sun.

"Hades, baby," she says softly, her heart pounding nervously in her chest. Heedless of the chomp that normally followed such an action, Siobhan's muzzle invaded his space with the concern of any mother. Hades was not hers, and yet he had played with her children and napped at her side. He belonged to her heart just as all of the other Ridge children did. His scent was tainted by his injury and the acrid scent of fear and stallion musk. There was no mistaking who had done this to him, but that made it no easier to accept.

The subtle rise of his ribs allows her to exhale shakily against his warm little body, and ascertained of his life, she lifted her head to call for Faolain. "He's here!"

In a way, Siobhan was grateful to push the anxiety of the night before onto the back burner. To bury it beneath her concern for the Ridge prince where she didn't have to deal with the sick jostling in her stomach. It gave her something else to focus on, although she would have given herself and gladly to have spared him this. Again, she drops his muzzle to touch his shoulder reassuringly, concern clouding her brown. "It's okay, we're here now."