Leander had seen the pair from above. He had recognized the cocoon of snow surrounding them for what it was – and he had circled, long and slow, before alighting amidst the flurries that kept the warm touch of spring at bay. There was a silence between them – the silence of a chasm that had long since split the brother and sister apart. He looked first to Kora, searching her ice-blue eyes for something. For anything.

But whatever it was that he was looking for, he didn’t find it.

“You wanted a niece.” Her dished head tilted to indicate the dark child, the ice arraying her cheekbones glistening sharply with the slight movement. “Now you have one.” For a moment longer, he stared at Kora – and when the clouds above rumbled, rippling with sudden flashes of static, Lee watched his sister’s gaze cut to the skies. He watched her waver, a witness to the echoes of an old fear that had once ruled her life, and he remembered all that his parents had told him – all that Rhy had told him about Kora. The guilt that welled up in him then served to replace the crackling anger he’d felt upon understanding her intent.

She intended to leave her child with him.

Just as quickly as it had manifested, the storm (both within and without) dissipated. “You’re wrong,” he said quietly. “Now I have three. A nephew, too.” He didn’t wait for Kora’s reaction, fearing there wouldn’t be one – she’d buried emotion too deep – and instead turned his attention to the slip of a shadow that hadn’t moved from Kora’s side. Had he lingered a moment longer, Leander might finally have glimpsed that something – a fleeting light that passed through the cool glow of her gaze as she took his meaning.

Rhy must have had children, too.

The stallion stepped forward. “I’m your uncle Lee,” he said to the girl, his voice kind and steady. “What’s your name?” Even as he approached, he could sense the wintry mare beginning to turn away. A pang seared in his chest as he watched the child become witness her own mother’s retreat. Then, in an echo of Kora’s parting with her first daughter, she left only these whisper-soft words behind: “Her name is Ashlin.”

Instinctively, Leander moved to block the filly’s view of Kora as she left. Fallen snow started to melt around them. Lee knew his sister meant to disappear, just as she’d done before. Did this second daughter know it, too? She was so still, so quiet, standing there and staring right through him – and when she finally did look up at him, Lee could have sworn she almost disappeared then, too. It had only been a flicker, as though he’d blinked and lost sight of her for a split second. Except he hadn’t blinked. Or had he?

Despite the tightness in his chest, Lee smiled for his niece. It was the first smile she had ever seen. “Ashlin,” he began gently, “You’re safe with me.” He wanted to say, I’ll take care of you, but the words stuck in his throat when he remembered that his mother used to say those exact words to him. Instead, he rearranged his wings at his sides and said, “How would you like to meet your cousin?” The warmth of him was so different from what the girl was used to that she could only manage a small nod. “Well, alright then,” he murmured, guiding the child away – far away from the place where her mother had abandoned her.

“Let’s go find Rae.”