Though the umber colt was motionless for a long time, he did not succeed in escaping reality. Moments were lost here and there where the pain-waves crested— the black sea of oblivion threatening to swallow him— but for the most part, Hades was all too aware of the world. And of the terrifying truth of his weakness, his mortality, his insignificance. He’d bitten that stallion who hurt his mother’s mate as hard as he could, but the big golden brute hadn’t even cried out like the other foals did. And then he— he— the dark boy’s body shuddered, struggling to dispel the phantom sensation of being weightless, powerless. To rouse itself from the grasp of a waking nightmare and—

—what was that? Hades’s ears were buried in the bright fire of his mane, but the sound of hooves travelling over soft earth was still unmistakeable. Tensing, the Ridge’s prince prepared himself for the impact of another blow. For the pinch of teeth, the punch of a hoof, or perhaps even some greater hurt that was beyond his ability to imagine. But it didn’t come. Instead, he heard the gentle sigh of Siobhan’s voice, and felt the soft velvet of her muzzle brush briefly over his skin. It was nothing more than a gentle touch, but he shrank from it anyway, heart fluttering wildly in his chest. Before last night, he hadn’t known that physical contact with his own kind could hurt. And now that knew, there was no way to un-know; no way to remove the dark stain of fear that tarnished the pleasure he’d once felt.

The warm breath briefly withdrew, and Hades heard the red mare call out to another. He’s here! The volume of her shout was deafening after the long moments of silence, and he flinched away from it. But moments later the voice became softer again, murmuring in reassurance. It’s okay, we’re here now. We? His thoughts felt sluggish; it was the mahogany colt’s senses that finally grasped the implications of this word. He breathed in Faolain’s familiar scent, cupped his ears forward to catch the gently-spoken syllables of his own name. And at the black ‘Teke’s touch, Rivaini’s son came alive again— lifting his head with a plaintive sound of protest when its comfort was withdrawn. Turning to face the two mares who stood beside him, his tiger-colored eyes blinked open.

Or at least, one of them did.

Somehow, the right half of his body had escaped with only minor scrapes and scratches. It was the left half of Hades’s face that was a red ruin, the lacerated flesh of his brow and cheek so swollen that only a slit of iris and pupil were visible on that side. Dried blood concealed the worst of his wounds— but once it was cleaned away, the damage would be evident in its full extent. The dark child’s cheek was torn from just below the eye and down to the curve of his jaw, and a single jagged cut ran across his brow. There was more, of course— dents and abrasions in his dark skin where Cullen’s teeth had grabbed hold— but comparatively minor. Of course, time would knit even the worst of the boy’s damaged flesh back together.

It was the wounds to his spirit that might never heal.

Under any other circumstances, Hades would have already bitten one or both of the women who had joined him. For a moment, his lips even uncurled from his teeth when he listed forward toward the curve of Faolain’s muzzle. But then the Ridge’s prince remembered, and he jerked quickly back. Sneezing and shaking his head anxiously, the colt champed his teeth to make his good intentions known before tentatively extending his lips toward Siobhan and the slender little shadow once more.

Seeking the comfort and peace that— once lost— became impossible to find again.