For the first time in his life, Abraxas faced two things: becoming a sibling, and becoming a father. As both his mother and Mercy's bellies grew full to bursting with each passing day, so too did the restlessness and anxiety of his mind and body. At night he would lay awake until the owls began calling, eventually giving in and spending half the night pacing along the shoreline while the birds' mournful songs wavered through the night air, and during the day he stood on high alert, carefully observing Mercy and Sabah and the behavior of the men around them, his face lined with exhaustion and tension in every muscle.

It did not help that he'd also suffered a crushing defeat in his first true battle, and had been forced to watch as Acid, his closest thing to a true friend, was stolen away by some Tinuvel brute. And then there was the topic of Mercy, who he knew simmered with discontent over being stuck here with the brotherhood. It was all enough to drive a man mad.

One night his mother had come to him, seeing that he shuffled and fidgeted as he waited for sleep to take him, and they had taken a walk to the edge of the water and watched as the moon danced between the dark, heavy clouds and the waves reflected its tremulous light. Abraxas knew that his mother was unhappy, like Mercy, but the older mare had come to swallow some of her misery, pouring what energy she had into taking under her wing the mare who would bear her first grandchild. She took Brax under her wing that night, too, letting him lean against her, shoving his muzzle in the crook of her jaw like he had when he was a colt, and unloading the weight he carried into the air between them.

"My sweet boy," Sabah had said, rubbing her cheek against the firm plane of his forehead, "When you left me two years ago, I thought I would die if I did not find you." At this, Brax's cheeks had burned with shame and guilt. What a selfish, impulsive decision that had been: the kind of decision only a boy could make. But Sabah continued, "But I lived. And you will live through this. We will live through it together."

At that, Brax had wondered: but should they? He had made the two most important mares in his life miserable. He had failed in his dream as a warrior of the Lagoon brotherhood, losing battle after battle. Perhaps he should abandon this life, this child's wayward quest, and give Sabah and Mercy—and his unborn sibling and child—what they deserved. But how could he leave now? The brothers had taken him in, welcomed him, given him a purpose, a family of a different kind. They might let him leave, but they would most certainly not let Mercy and Sabah leave: not without repayment.

There must be another way.

He lingered now in the same spot he and Sabah had stood in days ago, his body drooping with fatigue yet his mind whirring with one hundred and one thoughts. It was an overcast, breezy night, with no moon to look back at him, so Brax watched the dark mass of the sea instead, with its boisterous, roiling waves. The roar of it, at least, helped drown out the voice in his head.

The roar of it also disguised the approach of another.