In his dreams, he saw a face: a young stallion, swarthy, with white dripping down his withers and golden eyes that pierced. He glowed with health, youth and virility, and Hasan was overcome with awe and adoration. The stallion smiled as the wind tousled his mane, then lifted his head skyward. His lips opened; his throat quavered with effort, but no call escaped his lips. When his gaze levelled on Hasan once more, his eyes had shifted to green encased in amber, the deep brown of his coat darkened to shining black. Hasan was looking at himself.

The strange dream lingered in his mind as he roused, questing out gently with his muzzle to check on slumbering Shenzi before weaving through the trees along a well-worn path to the nearest brook. Leaves brushed against his sides and birds sang overhead as his sleep-clouded mind sharpened and turned towards other matters.

He was going to be a father.

Not for the first time, but something about it felt significant, and Hasan knew that was because of Shenzi and Baba Yaga. He'd believed for so long, after years of wandering and sewing wild oats—and after his aborted attempt to become a herd stallion on Salem years ago—that he was not destined to be the great herd stallion his mother had groomed him to be. He'd believed himself cursed. But then he had found peace and sanctity in his childhood home, and a friend in Baba Yaga. And now he was finding stability and contentment with Shenzi. He would have a family—a real family—finally. Perhaps one day when he felt confident enough to swim he would retrieve Aether from the wastelands across the sea. And then, if Shenzi ever found Zuri, things would be complete.

The light reflected from the brook appeared as bright spots in the swirling grey of his vision. Were those new? As he drank, Hasan felt himself lit from within by hope and possibility. He may still have been too blind to see it physically, but it was a beautiful day.

Then he lifted his head, water dripping from his muzzle, and pointed his ears across the brook, where the gentle crunch of leaf litter and a familiar scent wafted in the fresh morning air.

"Good morning, Yaga."