The ragged stump of Fell’s ear pains him for the length of Tinuvel’s winter, but he considers how much worse it might be without the constant application of soothing snowflakes, and he is grateful, to the extent one is capable of feeling gratitude whilst healing a torn off ear. Had he weathered the uncomfortable process in the midst of summer, fending off flies from the open wound and suffering heat from both the torn flesh and the sun on top of it, his mood would have been undoubtedly worse. As it stands, Fell’s mood has been… lighter than expected. Perhaps it was the generous knock on the head he had gotten from Xiomara in the autumn, or perhaps it was the fact that he hadn’t fought anyone so bitterly ever in his life. His thoughts still turn with desire and bloodlust, but he does not physically itch for it as he has in the past. It is like the difference between a starving man, and a well-fed man with a sweet tooth.

Light though his mood is, he is not completely free of his usual demons. He thinks of Solomon and Xiomara all hours of the day, puzzling out the Ice King’s motives, wondering darkly if Xiomara had been sent to kill him or just teach him a lesson. It wasn’t like he could ask during the fight, and he couldn’t even be certain she had known he was alive when she departed. For all Fell knew, the blue roan mare had knowingly left him for dead.

It is not something he is willing to let go.

He rests and recovers slowly as the winter progresses. His anger grows as the snows deepen and the ice thickens, but it is a worthy anger, an unapologetic anger. So much of Fell’s fury has been joined at the hip with guilt, neither existing without the other, and so thoughts of revenge for the sake of it have never crossed his mind. Violence for the sake of violence has always been Fell’s vice, but now, his guilt is absent, and his anger has all the power of conviction and certainty behind it. He does not feel out of control, and for once, he can set aside his impulses and consider his next move.

Though his anger swells as the season passes, it does not consume him. Mostly, the ache in his head and the incessant itching of his torn ear hold his active attention. He is foolishly rubbing his head against the rough bark of a tree to relieve the crawling itch when he hears the harsh snort from further down the path. Fell pulls his head away from the trunk, instantly alert. His intact ear cups forward, the absense of feeling on the tip of it where it usually met with its mate an alien sensation, like the loss of a tooth. He snorts in response, his breath coming raggedly through his flared nostrils, its intensity unfriendly and warning.

The black stallion’s hooves dig into the hard, cold soil of the beaten path as he navigates to meet the intruder. His tail snaps harshly against his flanks, and he flattens his ears, grimacing as the coarse strands of his mane irritate the edge of the torn one. He already does not expect to find Xiomara wandering his Bay, for her arrival had been suspiciously silent until they had crashed together in combat, and this intruder has at least announced themselves. Still, he is not expecting to see the silver mane and red-gold coat of Nyimara when he rounds the path’s bend.

He halts in shock, ears cupping forward, the stump of the half one just barely poking from the shaggy roots of his mane. His eyes narrow in suspicion; if his sister had wished to do him harm, he suspects she would not be here herself to carry out the deed. Fell’s mind flicks to the children of the Bay, but there is only one foal here this season, and already he is quite big enough to make a racket should somebody try something with him. And, of course, many of his mares are too ferocious to allow such an event to progress that far, anyway.

Still, he does not quite relax, though he is mostly confident the silver bay does not bring trouble with her this time. He has outgrown his fear of her since their last meeting, but foolishness has not taken its place; he knows Nyimara is a dangerous enemy. Perhaps, he thinks, she would make a good ally — if only he could negotiate his own side of things.

But he can’t, at least not more than a few hoarsely whispered words at a time, so he waits for her to state her business instead.

FELL

stallion. 16hh. black. marwari x. Rougaru x visurix.