ith the tension lingering above their heads, Wound had felt worry gnaw at her stomach when she hadn’t been able to find Amorette. Although she’d only ever spoken individually with the dark mare once, the diplomat had seen how close she’d been to Warrick. Anything that strikes up stress within her Overseer thereby strikes up stress for Wound — not because her emotions are so severely tied to Warrick, but because the things he worries about are valid.

However, Amorette’s late appearance to the meeting brought about a swirl of mingled emotions, both positive and negative. She had made a mental note to reconnect with her fellow diplomat soon. She does find Amorette standing ankle-deep in the sea — not unlike their original encounter when the dark mare had been swollen with pregnancy. Wound briefly wonders after her friend’s child, a silent lightning bolt of dread dragging through her stomach. Had that been the reason Amorette had retired into such deep corners no one could trace her?

Wound clears her throat as she approaches from Amorette’s right hip, allowing an audible sigh to leave her throat as the waves roll over her feet. Although autumn has arrived, the waters are still exceptionally warm. “Amorette.” Her greeting is soft against the hush of the tides but it isn’t harsh. “It’s good to see you again.”

She doesn’t ask the most obvious question, sure that her friend will answer it if she feels comfortable enough.

here are many things happening for them to worry over. The dramatic, rapid-fire shifts of leadership among kingdoms have shifted the underground plates of Beqanna’s political earth. Shifting plates normally lead to natural disasters — earthquakes and volcanic explosions and tsunamis — and, while this is all theoretical and symbolic, Wound finds herself waiting with bated breath for everything to explode.

She takes peace in knowing Amorette appears to be okay, at least physically. If her friend had been sick, Wound doesn’t find any signs of it now. She can only wonder why the hardworking mare had taken to corners of the world the rest were ignorant of. Those thoughts press on her mind as she looks over the dark plane of Amorette’s face.

The light breeze tugs on Wound’s silver-ombre mane as they stand in silence. The rhythm of the waves upon the shore and the haunting cry of a single seagull are the only songs sung between Wound’s words and whatever should follow, but the silver bay mare isn’t discontent. She is fine to stand with her heels slowly sinking into the sand while the warmth of the ocean tosses brine and seafoam against her skin.

Finally, there is a break in their silence. A tender smile finds Wound’s petite face. It’s a question asked among friends and the Head of Peace considers the dark mare just that — a friend. “Wishbone left in the summer for Nerine… I miss her with every bone in my body, but I know she’s having the time of her life there.” It could be a good thing, Nerine’s kingdom being so far away. If her daughter had only been in Ischia or even Loess it would be much more difficult for the silvery mare to stay away from visiting. “The fall season always gives me baby-fever,” she admits aloud. A piece of her wonders if Amorette feels the same way, and she fondly smiles again at the memory of standing on a shore similar to this one when her friend’s belly had been swollen with pregnancy.

“But I’ve been keeping busy to keep both missing Wishbone and wanting more children out of my mind.” Her coffee brown eyes turn away from the distant horizon and back to Amorette’s face. “I’ve missed you, Amorette. We all have.” At least the ones who knew her before she disappeared. There are so many new members to Tephra, it’s taking her quite some time to get around and greet them all.

ound’s heart aches for her friend. She doesn’t know why Amorette had abandoned Tephra (and by the sound of it, her son as well), but she’s certain it was for good reason. If not, there must be a reasonable explanation. Wound doesn’t fault her friend for being a neglectful mother; perhaps if she didn’t know the true and good heart Amorette has, she might’ve been more upset.

So when Amorette acknowledges Wound’s parenting skills but falls silent, the silver bay steps closer to touch her nose to her friend’s dark shoulder. She’s silent for a moment, compassion swallowing her heart whole, but before Amorette speaks again, the diplomat speaks. “Being a mother is difficult, Amorette. If your son hates you for doing the best you can, he’ll realize his mistakes when he grows up.” Wishbone had certainly screamed her hatred in her mother’s face several times — mostly because Wound wouldn’t let her swim or run or try to jump off a cliff. Yet it is a mother’s job to forgive and forget and love through it all.

But then the smoky mare’s grief is spilling from her mouth and Wound presses her face closer to her friend in sympathy. She turns her head to stare into the depths of the ocean, offering her shoulder as a source of comfort and a cloth to dry tears upon. “Hush, my sweet friend.” As surprising as it might be, Wound’s voice is gentler than it has been in the past. “All is forgiven. I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Their eyes meet, on that autumn beach with the waves washing over their feet and the wind tousling their locks, and Wound’s gaze is heavy with sympathy and forgiveness. Amorette reveals the truth behind her absence and the silver bay huffs a warm breath over her dark nose in comfort. “Men will be the end of us,” she jokes aloud. They — or rather, the lack of them — will be the death of her through the weapon of loneliness. “They can be handsome and sweet-talking and then turn around in the next breath.” She’s seen it in the depths of the forests, watching between the tangle of her brothers legs. “I don’t fault you, Amorette. Do you plan to stay in Tephra, now that you’re back?”

espite the power of words, touch holds its own special control. Wound’s known the voice of touch even in the days of her youth, spent among the decomposing leaves and slender shoulders of her brothers. In the silence of the abandoned forests, sometimes a day would go by where no words were uttered aloud, but the band of siblings still communicated. Simple touches on the shoulder, nose-to-nose contact, light huffs of air across baby-fuzz — the quiet of the forests would absorb the thoughts of their minds and silence the sound of their mouths.

So she accepts Amorette’s shoulder with a compassionate heart, content to whisper a warm breath of comfort against her friend’s neck. They are two women — two mothers — standing on the shore of their home with the waves tossing against their feet and the heaviness of life upon their hearts. Wound listens quietly to the dark mare’s admissions, including the announcement of her stay at Tephra, with a tender expression on her silver face.

“I’m glad to know you’re going to stay,” she says. Her voice is soft and quiet, the tune of a mother’s lullaby against her child’s young ears. Although she has no reason to tend to Amorette in this way, her empathetic soul longs to comfort until the tears have dried. Her stomach drops when the mentioning of Byrne’s father comes about. She doesn’t know of the man very well — Levi’s abandonment of Tephra happened not long after her own arrival — but she’s heard of the fire-slathered stallion.

A soft sigh leaves Wound’s lungs, pushing the tension away from her chest and out into the warm air. “Don’t worry, Amorette. I will always be here for you, no matter what.” Although those words have been empty promises on many lips, they are as true as the stars in the sky upon her own. She touches her mouth again to her friend’s neck, a platonic kiss from silver lips to dark crest. And so they stand, two mothers with waves against their feet and heaviness — but also warmth for the future — upon their hearts.