Hours dragged into days, which dragged into weeks and then into months, and still, he remained imprisoned on this inhospitable stretch of land with the inescapable reminder of what he'd done and of his own mortality. It was hard to focus on the positive, on the upcoming release of his herd to the Cove, of his chance to rebuild what he had lost when the guilt of his failure weighed so heavily on his mind.

He didn't understand why they continued to follow him.

But they did, and so his head kept raising each day, his hooves kept moving. One way or another he had to take care of them, or, at the very least, stop causing them to trade worried looks amongst each other as though he would not notice. And so he did. He rose and he grazed and he drank and he walked. He did all of the things one might expect him to do, save for court his mares, who he still felt keenly unworthy of.

This pattern left him with plenty of alone time, and it was during a solo venture to the water hole that he caught sight of the scarred brown mare and the half-grown child hovering behind her. He paused at the edge of the depression, his ears ticking forward and back as he sought to place the fierce little mare. She was familiar to him, somehow, although he could not immediately recall how. Nor could he immediately recall her name, only an impression of a fight, of anger, of distrust.

"You do?" He asked, without moving closer, not wanting to scare her off. His days of forcing claims and keeping mares against their will were long behind him.

Solomon