Her response was silence, and Peyote comfortably allowed that to stretch out around them. He took to looking off into the shadowed trees, ears pointed forward as he listened for any splashes in the swamp waters that might alert him of a brother’s approach. Normally he did not find it difficult to keep to himself here, but now that a title of importance had been bestowed over him, there was every bit of a chance one of his brothers would want to visit. Perhaps they’d grown curious about where he disappeared to for most of the day when he stayed Lagoon-bound. As much as he hoped the thick mud they’d have to trudge through and then the pastern-high water, sometimes accompanied by an array of unfriendly creatures would deter them, Peyote was learning some of them were stubborn enough to shove their way through.

The thought of that, of one of his Lagoon brothers materializing among the shadows he glared at and laying their eyes on the exhausted girl at his hooves made something twist tight and hot and angry in his gut. His ears flicked back and he blew a hard breath out of his pale nostrils.

The soft hush of crying - a sad little sound, even more heartbreaking (had he a heart to break) than agonizing wails - reached his ears and drew his gaze away from imaginary challengers. It was barely audible, likely only because of how close he still stood to her, but he caught it and glanced down, ears pointing forward again as he watched the soft, damp trail dark around her eyes and down her cheeks.

“Sleep.” He encouraged after a long, stretched out minute of silently watching her cry. “You’re tired.”