The sooty stallion does not know enough of his painted captor to say for certain that the expression that crossed her face was pain, but he does know enough to know that she went somewhere, mentally, before she answered him. And that somewhere was not altogether pleasant. It made him want to fix it somehow, to alter that memory for her so that it did not make her lips press so tightly together, or her eyes to go so flinty.

Apparently, I do not scream mother material either. Her words sat like a stone in his chest, cool to the touch as he lifted it to examine it. Mother material. He had not thought of Ashteroth as a mother, but his perception had been largely focused on their stilted relationship to one another. She reminded him of his mother in a way - not her mannerisms or words or appearance - but in the core of strength that kept her upright. Sidika had endured much before she brought him into this world, and much (he suspected) like Ashteroth, had not allowed it to change who she was.

Silence dropped between them for a moment as they shared space in their separate thoughts. He did not want to leave her with such an impression of herself, but who was he to say otherwise? He was just a trinket. A pawn. A lawn ornament for the likes of the valkyries.

What if we prove them wrong? Her question is so unexpected that he has no answer for it immediately, his brown-gold eyes going wide and round as he stared at her, expecting some sort of jest to follow such a proclamation. How would he even go about doing so? He had no romantic prospects, no lovers, no idea of how to even search for such a thing for himself. The black stallion is almost lost in this train of thought when her next question tugs him back to her true meaning.

"Us?" He asked stupidly, brow furrowing as he looked at her in a new light. He'd always thought she was beautiful, but looking at her as anything other than an authority figure had seemed dangerous prior to this moment. She was his captor, wasn't she? The jailor that held tight to his leash lest he be let loose to become the sort of stallion she expected him to be.

"Are you certain?" The words were uneven in his mouth, as if he couldn't quite be certain he was even saying them. Gecersiz knew he had no business being a father, but he could not deny the soul-deep and sudden yearning he felt for just that. To have a child that looked up at him and called him baba. The idea is blasphemous, the sort of thing he never allowed himself to dream of in years past lest he end up courting a mare he was unable to care for, but it is all the more intoxicating for it. With Ashteroth, he need not worry about protecting her. She was far more equipped to protect him and her babe, and had no need of any title he might be able to bestow upon her.

Her final question - almost lost in the tumult of his thoughts - forces him to focus again, and he nods. "I'd like to stay." He said, drawn by the idea of a family, not by the chains around his ankles. "I'd like to stay with you."