There is a lack of obvious emotion in Temblor’s demeanor as he accepts Rehoboam’s invitation to negotiate. Whether or not the painted stallion can offer something to interest Temblor enough to relinquish Celestine remains to be seen, but the lavender mare doubts it. The gray appears to be humoring Rehoboam, but Cel would be surprised if he actually let her go without a fight. Not because of any emotional attachments, but simply because of some price he’s attached to her, evident in the vigor with which he fought for her in the Lagoon, despite their status as perfect strangers.

Celestine’s gaze shifts between the two stallions. Their conversation is meticulously controlled, cool on the surface, undeniable tension beneath. Her teeth press together in secret alarm as Rehoboam mensions the child, but still she says nothing. She rebels against her feelings for the painted stallion, and against her attachments to Osiris, too. This conflict, however outwardly calm, is setting her skin to crawling, and she does not like it. Fear is an unfamiliar and unwelcome emotion, and Celestine responds to it with anger, though she does her best to hide this. She fights through her discomfort, realizing that there may be something she can do to avoid an uglier outcome, though certainly no outcome is going to be especially pretty.

She grapples with that something as the attention of both stallions turns on her now. Their gaze grates on her, and her ears tick back, frustration causing her expression to flutter briefly into a grimace.

“Take the child, Reh,” she says, her usual flirtatious tone dissolved, replaced with a voice of flat conviction. She is not happy with this outcome, but it is one over which she has at least a modicum of control. Her eyes harden, and though she holds Rehoboam’s gaze for a moment, she finds she must look away. “I’ll not have her witness a bloodbath so young. She will be better off with you, anyway.”

It is not a clear declaration of her choice to stay, but Celestine is suddenly cowardly; she cannot face the hurt in Rehoboam’s face, despite seasons of maintaining only a decidedly casual relationship with him. His pleading words are a sting to her breast, but the pain serves only to anger her further, and her ears dig further into her mane.

“Reh,” she says quietly. Anger and sorrow fight to make her voice waver, but she forces herself into stillness. She will not show weakness in front of either stallion, though some damned part of her would not mind so much if Rehoboam saw her cry.

“It’s better this way. Take care of Osiris.”

Having mustered no more courage than what it took to cut the ties, Celestine calls out for their daughter, and then slips away into the jungle, leaving the painted filly to meet her father alone.