After that night in winter, sightings of Boone were scattered. August could not have said what hellhole the palomino stallion crept back to, or what he did in those periods, only that he returned to bother August at the most inconvenient times. Twice more he came when August was asleep: once to startle him awake again, and the second time curling up back-to-back with him, so that when August woke he almost dove into the sea to wash the stallion's musk off. Once Boone even appeared mid-bowel movement, but the less said on that, the better.

August had spent a full year dreading this exact scenario. For a full year he'd been sleepless and paranoid, always looking over his shoulder and carefully checking the borders each morning and evening. For months he'd been plagued by nightmares of the gang coming to dismember him in various colorful ways. Lir he'd watched carefully for any signs that something was amiss, until he was so familiar with the young leader's habits that he could recognize him by the sound of his hoof steps.

So when Boone had arrived, and no murder attempts were made, August was left reeling, shock and confusion ebbing away to vague discomfort and irritation. After everything that had happened between them, August could not have called Boone a friend: he was a nuisance at best, and an unreliable ally. At one point August might have called him the worst kind of enemy. But they'd known each other so long, there was a strange, twisted kind of relief in being reunited. Their shared history might have been half-rotten, but it was theirs, and August did not have to wear the mask of the Polite Herd Stallion he wore around everyone else.

The other problem was Lir. August had managed to keep Boone out of Lir's sight so far, but surely by now the lead stallion suspected something was amiss. Noctifer already knew of Boone's existence, after all, and August could not hide his hoof prints in the dirt or the golden hairs he left threaded in the grass. He most certainly could not hide the stallion's stench. So it was only a matter of time before there was a chance meeting between the two, and it would be the end of everything August had built. He knew Boone too well: he was incapable of subtlety, and he thrived on doing exactly as he pleased, which more often than not involved making things difficult for August.

Something had to change, and for weeks August turned over the dilemma in his mind. He'd already threatened Boone multiple times, and had even pummelled him into the dust again—to his satisfaction, marring that pristine coat Boone gloated over—but still the golden-haired idiot turned up time after time with that crooked smile on his face. He was like a biting horse fly that no amount of tail-whipping would disperse. August considered the possibility that he had changed and did not intend on making any trouble, but quickly tossed out that idea. Boone was Boone. Even if he intended nothing malicious now, he would harbor every iota of information he had against August and release it like a bomb the second things did not go in his favor. August could leave, but Boone had already tracked him down from their home across the sea. He would only find him again. There was only one possible path of action left.

Remove Boone from the equation entirely.

August made his move at golden hour one late-spring day, as the prairie glowed gold beneath a kaleidoscope sky. He'd been tracking Lir's movements all day, and now the lead stallion was moving in the direction of the border, presumably to do the evening rounds. August slid into a brisk trot after him, eating up the distance between them quickly, and whickered in greeting when he was close. As ever, his manner was gruff, but not unfriendly. He and Lir had never grown close—quite intentionally on his part—but August held a sort of grudging respect for the younger leader, and his ability to do what August had no interest in.

"Thought I'd join ya, if you don't mind," August drawled companionably. "In fact I— Well, I had somethin' I wanted to talk about." His voice dropped to the pitch of gravel, and his dark eyes watched Lir with guarded interest from beneath his silver forelock. "Somethin' a little tricky."