It takes Frida several long moments to realize she is no longer being pursued, Ender's voice breaking like a lighthouse through the monsoon of frenzied thoughts in her mind, guiding her back to rationality. Frida skids to a halt, blunt hooves slicing deep wounds into the damp soil.

She whirls around, gaze first settling on Ender before flicking side to side, frantic in their motion. The muscles of her neck jump and twitch beneath a tensed jaw, and something sour curls in the pit of her stomach as her gaze turns towards her tattered haunches. Her blood feels like fire against her skin, chilled from the shock that had begun to fog her mind. The phantom sensation of the jaguar's claws sinking into her flesh makes her flinch, each muscle of her body coiled and quivering. She wants to keep running, to flee further into the jungle until the trees and vines swallow her whole. But now that she has stopped, she feels pinned to place like a butterfly on a corkboard.

Frida turns again to Ender, unbidden tears turning her gaze glassy. Desperately she tries to blink them away, out of anger or embarrassment she isn't sure. There is no way to be upset with Ender, but the young queen feels suddenly resentful of herself and her shameful lack of bravery in the face of danger. She should have fought the fucking feline, turned around and stomped on it until it no longer posed a threat. To her, to her family and herd, to the whole island. But she'd been a coward and turned tail to run, no thoughts of finding the others and guiding them to safety present in her mind as she bolted as fast and as far as she could.

Was that really what a queen would do?

Frida twists the choked sob that rises from her throat into a frustrated sound, somewhere between a scream and an unintelligible curse, ears twisting and nestling into the pale locks of her mane. She turns her head from Ender, stubbornly refusing to meet his gaze as she unties the knot in her vocal cords and says, "I'm sorry I startled you, that damn cat came out of nowhere and I- it was on me before I could do anything, I just wanted to get away to..." protect our baby, but even now in the most vulnerable of moments Frida cannot bring herself to voice acknowledgement of this connection she shares with the cream stallion. Out loud she'd always called Azrael her son - never our son, except to anyone but herself in the privacy of her own thoughts. She wants to, but that knot in her throat appears, tied twice as tight this time.

Finally she looks back at Ender, reluctantly meeting his gaze and forcing her own to harden against the softness she sees there. There will be time for tender feelings later. "We should find the others and get them to safety."