Fell is always glad to see the brightness in his children’s faces. Often he approaches them with caution, afraid of his own strength and clumsiness, worried that somehow, even in deliberate stillness, his existence is inherently violent. He tries hard to quiet himself for them, especially the young ones, and any positive response to his presence is a reward of immeasurable value to him.

Rethe is no longer a baby, but the relaxing of her face and the playful smile she gives him when she realizes who has been sneaking up on her fills his heart all the same. He mirrors the expression of relief, his own evident as the cloak of self-loathing and guilt slips off in the presence of someone who is just happy to see him.

She asks about the foals of the Bay, and he nods eagerly. Fell reaches for Rethe’s cheek and taps her lightly with his upper lip four times. Four babies so far, that he knows of. "Uprising," he whispers, "Rollo, Alister, Arcerys." It takes him a second to get all of the names out. The last two are actually Yael and Zurok’s twins, making them Fell’s grandchildren, but that doesn’t matter. He is proud to share them with Rethe, and he is sure more of the second stallions’ foals will be around shortly for her army of little ones.