The wind howled loudly in Kesja’s ears, but the sound of Bacardi’s call— shrill and strong and achingly familiar— could not be drowned out. Even in the midst of booming thunder and shaking earth, the grullo girl would always hear that voice. A voice that carried memories of warmth and happiness and a sense of belonging. A voice that had soothed her through countless uncertainties and doubts. Because where Valka was the fire that flowed through her veins, Bacardi had always been the air that Kesja breathed. The fuel that kept her burning bright. Even now, having known and lived beside Solomon for a year— even now, that hadn’t changed. It couldn’t change. Instead of replacing the Bay’s Huskarl in her heart, Tinuvel’s King had simply claimed a new piece of it for himself.

Solomon might be her sire, and she loved him… but Bacardi would always be her dad, and her love for him was deeper. Different.

Endless.

While her older sibling faltered and slowed, Falda ran to the approaching stallion without hesitation. Squealing playfully, she ducked around Bacardi’s body and then rested her chin on his withers. Watching the older filly from behind the barricade of her sire’s body, and braced to run at a moment’s notice. But Kesja, it seemed, had forgotten their game. Drifting forward slowly to meet the Huskarl, she brushed her nose briefly against his. And then leaned into his gentle touch, softening in the same way that Falda had seen of their mother. Yielding to him in a way that the dark bay sensed she yielded to no one else. “Father,” the grullo murmured contentedly, those two syllables warm and wistful. It was a stark contrast from the harsh bite of only minutes before, and Falda’s ears flicked forward to catch the rest. You took entirely too long to come home.

“I didn’t want to be a bother,” Kesja answered, her dark eyes dropping to the ground. Was she lying? The dark brown yearling wasn’t sure, but her sister was starting to sound unhappy again. Her own lips tugging into a frown, Falda glanced up at her father and then back at the other girl, trying to figure out why. After an uncomfortable beat of silence, the painted mare spoke again, her syllables tumbling over one another in their abruptness. “Okay, fine. I— I was angry, and hurt. I thought that Valka sent me away because she didn’t want me anymore. That y— that you didn’t want me here anymore.” Shifting her weight from one side of her body to the other, the grullo continued to avoid looking at her family. Her mouth was twisted into a frown that matched Falda’s, and her dark tail danced restlessly through the air.

Oh. Oh. With Kesja’s confession, the dark bay found her way to a truth that helped her to understand her sibling— and Valka— better. The anger and distance that they showed, it wasn’t real. They weren’t mad; they were only afraid. Afraid that the ones they cared about didn’t care just as much about them. Afraid of being hurt. With a thoughtful expression, Falda continued to watch the iron-grey tobiano for a moment, then she pulled her muzzle from Bacardi’s back and stepped around the stallion to press it gently against Kesja’s neck, too.

“You’re wrong,” the filly said softly, her golden eyes as warm and gentle as her sire’s. She didn’t even need to ask to know that she was right. There was a reason that Valka was always looking in the direction of the Cove; that Bacardi had lost the light in his smile. From the moment she was old enough to understand the subtleties of emotion, Falda had sensed there was something missing from the Bay— and Kesja was it. She had to be.

But Kesja, meeting her sibling’s hopeful gaze, might have told her that things were not so simple. Because she knew what it was like to feel divided between two halves of her heart— and that even distance and time had not eased Solomon’s sorrow at whatever had pulled him and the skjaldmær apart. She could only assume that Valka was suffering the same. And that— even though Bacardi had greeted her gladly and warmly— the chestnut mare would only find her an unwelcome reminder of everything that she’d lost.