Iscariot had never imagined that he might find courage in fear.

Waiting in the darkness the night that Faolain had battled Cullen, the pale stallion had vowed that he wouldn’t allow her to face another foe alone. That he would stand beside the black ‘Teke next time, fight beside her. But when the massive palomino arrived on the Ridge’s narrow strip of shore, he couldn’t; he just couldn’t. Heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings, he’d turned and fled with the herd’s numerous children. Feeling shame swell in the hollow chamber of his chest— shame at his weakness, at his inability to protect the ones he loved. At the selfish way he’d always looked to others to take up the burdens and trials that they faced.

At the bachelor’s primal scream of victory, and Roisin’s desperate call.

In that moment, the very gravity of Iscariot’s world shifted. He still felt the pull of his fear, as if he were shackled to another creature— one desperate to claw itself into the shadows of the jungle. But a new and unexpected force had joined it, tugging him back in the direction from which he’d come. Breathless, quivering, the perlino’s strides faltered. For a few moments he stood in the dappled sunlight at the forest’s edge, fighting a war within himself. Then— slowly but determinedly— Rivaini’s brother turned back in the direction from which he’d come. Returned to the beach, where furrows in the sand stood as evidence of the brief but furious altercation that had taken place. And strode into the buffeting waves, striking out towards the Crossing with no regard for his own safety.

Iscariot’s hind legs tired quickly, and a couple times during his swim he wondered whether he might drown. Once his head even dipped briefly beneath the surface, causing him to inhale saltwater in the panicked seconds before he reemerged. When his hooves finally scraped the Lagoon’s stony beach, however, the ivory stallion was certain that no victory had ever tasted so sweet. Inspired by his accomplishment, he did not pause to rest but turned northward instead, hoping to encounter either Roisin or the bachelor’s scent somewhere along the shore. Limping more heavily with each stride, he wandered for a few minutes before glimpsing a solitary red-and-white figure in the distance.

Roisin.

Curiously enough, the young mare appeared to be alone— though Iscariot had enough sense in him to be wary regardless. Treading more softly now— and twisting his ears about to listen where he couldn’t see— the slender male approached. A few yards away, however, he could bear it no more. Abandoning his caution behind him, the pale stallion raced to his friend’s side, announcing his presence with a gentle nicker. "Roisin!" He breathed in mingled concern and relief, reaching out to touch his muzzle to her cheek if she permitted it. It was a gesture intended to comfort himself as much as the filly. He had to know that she was real, that she was safe. He had to know that he hadn’t failed her completely.

That somehow, there was still a chance for him to set things right.