It’s no surprise when Nyimara finds him again. She isn’t the type to sit still for long, and he’s been expecting some kind of plan proposal for the past few days now. The longer she takes to consider, the more diabolical the plan, he thinks.

When she approaches him with a warm greeting, Fell flicks his ears back and narrows his eyes. He knows the purpose of her words, and it’s not to soothe or win him over; it’s likely to butter him up. He casts her a knowing look, and gives a curt nod as if to say we both know how this works — spit it out. He tolerates the friendly touch to his neck, and rumbles in response, appreciative of the physical warmth, harboring no illusions about the fragility of their familial bond. Fell has come to realize that this is best treated as a business partnership.

The Marwari stallion listens to Nyimara’s monologue, his ears swishing to and fro slowly over the course of her plan. He doesn’t love it, but Fell has never excelled at anything subtle or political, and certainly not both at the same time. Still, he thinks about the shadow cast over the Bay by Solomon’s rule. They’ve never been in alliance, and until the attack from Xiomara, their peace had been tenuous at best. Even without the abrupt shattering of the ceasefire between Cove and Bay, Fell would have grown weary of the tension eventually, and something would have broken. Now, he feels a little thrill at the idea that there might be no one to lord over him in the future.

It’s not a perfect idea to Fell, and he is especially caught on the part where he might strain the already uncertain peace he has with Mariael. He abhors the thought of hurting Maziel by clashing with her beloved sister, and he fears he might bring the whole plan crashing down if he has to face her in battle. His ears twist with agitated uncertainty; he hates this feeling of being torn between vengeance and peace.

But Nyimara isn’t torn. She’s never torn; only ever vengeful. He eyes her suspiciously, wondering to what lengths she will go to incapacitate Solomon. Would it not be worse if left her to her own devices? Fell will lose either way, he thinks, and this adds weight to his desire to agree with Nyimara’s plan. It’s easier to justify the decision if he tells himself he can do some damage control if he’s at least still on Nyimara’s side. It tips the scale just enough, though it’s difficult to tell if he might have agreed anyway, and the justification is only a form of comfort to soothe his guilt. The rage within him sleeps, but it’s far from gone, and he thinks that by igniting it and flooding himself with its fire in his resolve for justice that it will burn away his self-loathing and shame. The end would justify the means, he thinks. Eventually.

"Mariael," he croaks, finally. "Talk. Don’t hurt." Fell can’t articulate why he doesn’t wish to fight with Maziel’s sister, and even the words he can muster are rough and cracked and quiet, like a heavy stride through dead leaves. But they are firm all the same, and he turns the force of his gaze onto his sister, his expression calm and determined though his eyes are ablaze with waking fury.