Snatches of what had happened returned to him: his body tumbling, half-conscious, like a ragdoll through the shallows; coral scraping against his belly; a spiny fish snapping its barbs at his face. He had cried out under the waves, letting sea water pour into his throat and stomach, which he coughed up now. All around him the earth hissed and roared: the sea churning at his back, and the trees bending in the gale before him. There on the pebbled beach with seafoam licking at his hooves he blinked, tried to open his eyes, cried out in pain, and screwed his eyes shut again. Panic rose in him like bile. Was this his life now? Had he looked upon his son's face not knowing it would be the last time?

He had just about coughed up everything when, almost too late, the wind threw the scent of a mare his way. Almost instantly, the sound of hooves on stones reached Hasan's ears above the raging of the wind and sea. He lifted his head automatically toward the stranger, and the movement made him stumble as if the earth had suddenly rocked beneath him. His white legs locked, and he pricked his ears in what he hoped was the stranger's direction, his bloodshot eyes screwed shut and watering profusely. Are you all right? she asked, and he could not help but let out a bitter laugh. Though he could not look in a mirror, the rawness of his face and the aches of his body told him he likely looked as rough as he felt.

"Do I look all right?" He snorted harshly, and swallowed the blood bubbling in his mouth, his bloodshot, watering eyes still squeezed shut. His face was hot; he could feel his eyes, and the lashes on his face where the spines had raked him, swelling a little. "As much as I would love to, I can't see a damned thing right now. Some kind of horrible fish whacked me in the face. Maybe —" his voice softened a little, "—maybe if you go slowly I can." He lowered his head, waiting for her to lead the way.