The bellow that shook Faolain to her senses was almost unfamiliar. It came from across the territory, on the shore where the black mare was headed already on patrol, and she wasted no time in picking up the pace from a languid walk to a brisk canter.

All the paths of the Ridge were familiar to her, and she leaped over roots and stream beds without hardly a glance, sliding down the steep slopes of the mountain like a rolling drop of ink. Familiarity flickered vaguely in her mind at the voice she had heard echoing up the cliffs, but she could not place it until the shadows from the canopy above abruptly stopped and light spilled into the shelter of the jungle from the beach.

As her hooves met sand and her eyes adjusted to the morning light, she did recognize the slate-grey figure on the beach. He was shaggier and slightly taller than Faolain, and his dark coat was splattered with snowy white. It seemed wrong to see him without a halo of steam around his face, and snowflakes resting on his eyelashes.

“Björn?” she asked curiously, breaking her stillness with a sudden few strides of trot. She opened her mouth to actually greet him, but instead of her own voice, she heard the call of another.

Halting, and turning as she did so, Faolain watched as Enya’s mare Talya came to a halt just a short distance away. Faolain hadn’t spoken to her yet, and a slight twinge of guilt pulled her lips into a small frown. She hadn’t really intended to pull the pale mare away from her home; her fight with Enya had been opportunistic, just an outlet for her frustrations. It had succeeded in that aspect; Enya had turned out to be a good sparring partner, and their fight had turned into almost a dance. Faolain would either return Talya to the Harbor, or taunt Enya with her to see if the painted mare would dance with her again. In the meantime, though, the friendly Harbor mare seemed to have no problem at all with her trip to the Ridge.

Oogie! she greeted Björn, and Faolain cocked her head in confusion at the nickname. She seemed to know the Inlet stallion. “Talya,” she greeted. Her amber gaze swept between the two of them. “I see you’ve met?” She took a step forward, offering her muzzle in greeting to first Talya, then Björn. “It’s good to see you back in the Islands,” she said to the grullo stallion. “What brings you to the Ridge?”