Come with me, Kvothe.

When the release that she sought finally arrived, it did not offer freedom from the pain of her grief. Nor did it offer the sort of kindness that she had come to associate with the towering stallion— though neither were Tyr’s words cruel. Instead, the deep rumble of his voice offered a simple command that struck every submissive chord within the red mare. That allowed her to push the paralyzing force of her tears aside, if only for a short time. Tripping forward obediently, Kvothe drifted along in the dunalino’s wake, following so closely that her warm breath caressed the curve of his flank. And somewhere, beneath… beneath the serrated blade that Aslan’s death had driven into her chest, she was reminded of a time when she’d stood frozen in guilt and shame before him, responsible in some unknown way for his undoing.

She could live a lifetime in penance for that day and never deserve the absolution (the kindness) that Tyr still offered her.

Perhaps her crimes were the cause at the heart of— of tonight, of what had happened. Of the suffocating tragedy that she didn’t want to think about. Was her son’s life the cost of her selfishness, her defiance? Kvothe shied away from the possibility, from the fresh stab of pain that consumed her at the thought. She focused on their surroundings with a grief-sharpened clarity. By now, the distant hum of the Falls was behind them, the forest thinning into a meadow that was beautiful, painted as it was in the pastel hues of dawn’s light. A part of her would have loved to pause there, to bask in the superficial comfort offered by such beauty. To embrace the gentle truth that life went on— that neither birth nor death could still its determined march for more than an instant.

But her companion was pressing forward with determination, with purpose, and the slender chestnut could not bear the thought of solitude. Hastening her pace to match Tyr’s— the curve of her muzzle brushing his rump incidentally— her dark eyes flitted forward again. Found the tangle of wild growth that appeared to be their destination, and became white-rimmed with fear. She didn’t want to step into the darkness that rose to meet them, feared that it might consume her. That she would be lost. And only her faith in the draft male could overpower that fear. Only the pale beacon of his spotted hindquarters could beckon her forward, promising refuge even in such a wretched, forsaken place. Only the heat of his skin could still the quiver of her blood-red coat when she crowded close, overwhelmed by the heady musk of stallion that permeated the air here.

Blindly, she gave her trust and herself over to the golden stallion— never considering what might motivate his kindness.