She does not understand why Tyr has gone through the trouble of capturing not one, but two Lagoon men to trade for her freedom. Regardless of any affections that may have passed between them, Faolain does not comprehend why she is worthy of the effort. She is, after all, little more than a shadow; bitter and solemn at the best of times, confused and fear-aggressive at the worst.

One, or maybe two, good things have come from her stay on the Crossing, at least. The spindly mare seems to have snapped back to herself to some degree after the birth of Tyr’s colt, the flood of adrenaline and hormones seeming to wash away the clinging veil of insanity that had been shrouding her senses. She has not regained any lost memories, but she is, more or less, herself again.

She makes her way back to the Ridge with only moderately more strength than when she had left. The weakness that had plagued her was still present, though she found it must have been exaggerated by her madness. Her breath comes in hitched gasps as she pulls the slate gray colt through the waves beside her, but she only helps him along so far; he picks up swimming with ease, and soon surpasses her as the great emerald mountain breaches the horizon and looms before them. It’s easier for her to keep up with him when she isn’t also supporting him, so after their rough beginning, the journey goes quickly.

As the beach becomes visible, so too does Tyr standing at the edge of the water. Faolain still does not remember much of their past, but the relief that floods her at the sight of him is very present. The colt, who has not met his father yet, seems to hesitate a bit when his hooves touch the sand, and he lets the waves rock him in place for a moment before Faolain catches up and gives an encouraging nip to his snow-dusted hindquarters. He scoots forward along the shallow sea floor, until he stands in knee-deep water, looking up at the massive golden stallion who waits for them.

“Hullo,” he says carefully. He hasn’t spoken to a single Lagoon stallion, which means he hasn’t spoken to a single other person than Faolain herself, but his mother hasn’t ushered him away from this one as she had with every other individual on the Crossing, so he is emboldened. He takes a hopeful step forward, and when Faolain still does not reprimand him for approaching, he takes an additional, excited leap.

The black mare remains in the shallows, drinking in the sun and the smell of the Ridge. She eyes Tyr with suspicion, but the expression is a hollow mask; she finds she does not truly mistrust him. Slowly, she begins to relax as the child greets his father, and for a moment she even closes her eyes, allowing the two to meet under their own terms, free of her piercing and protective gaze. Like a cat, she makes herself and her young colt vulnerable for a moment, before the hooded black lids flicker slowly open again.