The way that the young mare responded to his self-recrimination— with a twist of one ear and a stomp of one hoof— was so assertive and stubborn and perfectly Roisin that it nearly forced a note of sweet laughter past his lips. Even standing in the heart of the unknown, the memories her firm voice evoked made it easy to forget his fear. To remember brighter things instead, such as the self-assured way with which she’d tamed the Ridge’s wild young pack. Bossy, the other children had been quick to grumble, eyes rolling to express their disdain. But somehow they listened anyway, and the grace with which Roi led them allowed them to forget that they’d wanted anything else. Just as Iscariot was able to forget his guilt now— convinced more by the confidence in his friend’s voice than any revelation of truth.

No, if there was an epiphany it came seconds later, on the heels of the reddish-gold girl’s confession. I need you, and— and well, I don't want you to get hurt.

In a way, the perlino supposed that he’d always known that he was needed, even if that need was a superficial thing. But this was the first time that he’d heard it spoken, the first time that he felt it in the soft reluctance of his companion’s words. It was the first time that Iscariot realized that even in his own weakness, he could still be the source of strength for another. Like his spirited sister Rivaini, like the brave and unyielding Faolain...and like Roisin. And by no coincidence, those three formed the nucleus of his little family in the Ridge— a family that he had chosen. A family that meant far more to him than he’d ever be able to express, though he still felt compelled to try. Giving his head a nervous little toss that sent the creamy strand of his forelock fluttering across one eye, the slender stallion inhaled softly, lips parting to speak—

—and then lapsed into confused and uncertain silence as Roisin deftly twisted the conversation in another direction. Ears twisting out to the side, he followed the line of her gaze with icy-blue eyes, thoughts travelling back to Atlantis as well. He had expected to be lost beyond his home there, and yet somehow— somehow he was not. He was afraid for the young mare, and worried about those he’d left behind… but the anticipated ache of longing had never come. For him, it seemed, home was not a specific place so much as being surrounded by the love of those whom he loved in turn. Warmed by this realization, he touched his muzzle gently to the black silken strands of Roisin’s mane, smoothing an errant strand back into place.

"We can’t know for certain what he wants," Iscariot murmured, striving to make his voice reassuring as he continued. "But if it was your mother— I mean, he won so easily. He could’ve had her, if that had truly been his wish. No, he must want something else, Roi. Something he couldn’t just take." It occurred to him that that something might easily be one of the Ridge’s unborn children, or perhaps even the rights to sire such a child himself. But Iscariot held those secrets and the fear that they bred behind the dam of his lips, and sought to change the course of their conversation before Roisin arrived there too.

"As Faolain would say, though, there’s a bright side to everything." He said lightly, pale eyes laughing even as he tried to hold a solemn face. "You told me once that you wanted to see the world beyond the Ridge. And, well— here's the world in all its glory." With a bob of his chin he pointed inland, the gesture encompassing everything from the dark ominous forest to the unpleasant musk of fetid earth and stallion.

And then he really was laughing, the sound of it careless and beautiful in the crisp salty air.