On a finer day he might have regretted his sharp words, but right now he felt only the dread and panic of his current situation. Everything was a sensory nightmare: from the wind in his face, to the exhaustion in his legs, the sting of salt in his throat, and the sharp scraping of his eyelids against his sightless eyes. Thirst and hunger, too, raked raw at his insides.

"I'll walk beside you," Hasan declared, then stepped forward, nose searching for the mare's side so that he could keep close as she led the way. Her scent flooded his nostrils: soft and musky, a brief respite from the sharp tang of salt. Having given up on opening his eyes for the time being, he kept them pressed shut, which did not stop them from streaming profusely, the salt stinging the open wounds on his face.

"Thank you, Yaga. My name is Hasan." As they walked, the pebbles under their feet turning to water-logged grass and earth, Hasan pressed against her, his shoulder level with her flank. The movement calmed his nerves somewhat, and as his rational brain returned to him, he noticed how tall the mare felt beside him, the muscles of her hindquarters bumping against the hard plane of his shoulder. Was she the protector of the Forest? The idea of a tall, strong mare filling that role brought back memories of his mother and Persephone and their days as the Forest's co-queens. It brought him peace to know that the tradition of a female leader had continued in their absence.

"Are you the lead here?" he asked quietly, tossing his head as the wind threw his forelock in his face.