Reminiscent of the night he responded to the sprites’ call, he stands in restrained reverence while looking to the mountain in the distance, though today the mild spring sun gently warms his body as he takes in the scene. Like a bolt of lightning jumping from a tempestuous sky to the ground, realization races through his train of thought, bringing his eyes from glazed contemplation to riveted concentration. He is not the only one physically changed by the quest. Something dark lies to the west of the craggy peak, giving a slightly ominous flavor that reaches the tip of his tongue. He wonders what role this ambiguous fog will play in the future.

There are differences beyond the mountain as well, though the northeast catches his attention the most. There is a faint rippling quality to the image it presents, suggesting the presence of a drier and hotter climate than the neighboring lands. He knows that, prior to his setting foot on her land again, a series of events had erased much of Beqanna’s landscape like an unwanted stroke of graphite from an artist’s pencil. Had their little adventure restored some of the missing kingdoms, or are these entirely new venues begging to be explored?

The idea intrigues him.

In his old life, he’d never known much outside of his private territory’s boundaries. Naturally, there had been the occasional mindless venture into the common lands as he sought bring home another pretty doll for his treasured collection. They were simple days and the deepest part of his soul still yearns for them, as they required very little probing into the heart of one’s character. He is not sure that he is ready to investigate his own impetus, to learn what kind of person he truly is, but he recognizes that this may be the reason he’d received the supernatural summons.

Though lost in memories of an era long interred by modern lifestyles and ideologies, his senses are still quite keen from all his time spent maintaining the security of the women and children that lived under his guardianship. He shifts his weight, shakes out the wings that he is still adjusting to, and tosses his head as lightly as he can under its new weight. He paints a picture of confident nonchalance, though he can tell that someone is near and that he is fixed in their scope. Nothing particularly spells imminent danger is presented by this person’s proximity, but he does find it somewhat uncomfortable to be the watched, rather than the watcher. He waits as patiently as possible for their unveiling, a soft edge of tension in his muscles, should immediate action be called for.

The footfalls are muffled by the cushions of vegetation, but he still hears them and he pivots to face the approaching person. The horn is the first thing to draw his attention, for it glints and sparks beneath the sun’s rays as she draws closer. Her words indicates a familiarity that he is not quite able to place, so he takes a moment to study her before even beginning to think of how he will respond. He takes in the glossy raven-black locks that fall fetchingly against the golden tone of her body, the smudgy quality of the dapples creeping along the hardened curves of her athletic form, the fearsome horn on her face, the vividly colored eyes that move in their own appraisal of him.

She is a stunning package wrapped in a somewhat sinister shroud, but it is her voice that stirs his memory. He nods, more to himself than anything else, as he remembers hearing her speak on the mountainside before they were pulled into the past together. He counters her grin with a subtle smirk of his own and the traces of a laugh color his own voice as he finally breaks the awkward silence that had been growing between them. ”Really? I hadn’t noticed..” A twinkle in his eyes lends itself to indicating the satire behind his words.

But then, he seamlessly transitions into solemnity in his next breath. ”The physical changes are nothing, though, compared to the mental ones. I’m not sure I care for them..” Of course, he knows nothing of the changes wrought by the magic that returned her here, but he is sure that something must have happened to her as well. He tilts his head inquisitively at her. ”We were all separated in the end, so we must have had different experiences. Was any of it worth it?” Just as he is uncertain of his path moving forward, he is not really sure what he means by this, but the words fall before he can stop them. So he stands before her, tongue-tied, as he wrestles with the whirlwind of emotions that has suddenly begun to whip through his mind yet again.

The feathers of his wings ruffle gently as another pregnant pause swells before them, but he is not frustrated or impatient, for he suspects that her experience may not have been any easier than his. At the beginning of their interaction, he had easily perceived the restraint that dominates her every action, and when she finally speaks, the carefulness that coats her words is just as apparent. It mirrors his own natural temperance, so he does not mind it, let alone take offense as some might. He also shares in her discomfort at the introspection his query had forced her into. These are the mental changes to which he refers because, much like Famkee, Assailant has no desire to face his own demons.

He does not notice that she seems unable to meet his eye, for his own head had already turned away so that he does not have to meet hers. She speaks of selfishness, a relatable motive he had found in himself when he’d thought about why he’d entered the portal in the first place, though he wonders if she regards her reason as shallow as he finds his own. She continues on and that is when he knows the answer to his internal question. No, there was something deeper that sat in the driver’s seat of her motivation. He wishes he could identify with her in contributing to a positive outcome, ponders what she could mean by changing her own history.

The serene splashing of the nearby stream comes into focus, serving as a soothing salve to the squalling in his mind. This brings a calm that allows his gaze to return to her. He is again struck by the strange beauty she presents, but he is mildly surprised to realize that his parched soul holds no thirst for possession of her autonomy. Another piece in the puzzle of his self-discovery, another thread of his person unraveling as he watches helplessly. Well, perhaps it is not the worst thing to happen in a world that has abandoned the only lifestyle he’s ever known. Even more peculiarly, he finds himself interested in learning who this mare is inside, though it seems she may not be as sure of herself as she may have been before.

While she may feel no compulsion to lay everything bare to be picked at like a rotted carcass by unfeeling vultures, he brings the idea into consideration when she asks of his turmoil. Though he has occupied the same space as quite a few people, he has never willingly disclosed much of anything to anyone. The concept of discussion is unfamiliar and daunting, but perhaps it is exactly what he needs, for an outside perspective often gives clarity that may otherwise be left to languish in the murk.

The nuanced revision of her posture produces the desired effect and what tension he had been clinging to scatters like a measure of water sprinkled into a ripping hot pan. ”It is difficult to know where to begin, there are so many berries on the bush.” He pauses. What is the root of this metaphorical bush? ” Somehow, I only added to the panic. I did nothing to comfort those parents because I am little more than a disconnected, pitiless lout.”  His expression becomes more knotted, but he presses on. ”I am not who I thought I was, if ever I really knew..”

It is possible that he could continue on for too long, but his own curiosity wins out and he casually tosses the ball back into her court. ”Perhaps, together, we can determine what alterations have been made for you as well. What of your past would need fixing?” He offers no apology for such a bold encroachment of her privacy because he intends for it to stand as an invitation to delve just as deeply into his own.

Though they are rusted and reluctant, the wheels of his mind begin to turn at her mention of revived lands. The commotion of their unoiled movements drowns out her unease over whatever magic the sprites had shared with her and a fog creeps over his eyes once more as he is returned to a different past.

Control.

Though he does not yet know its name, that is one of the incorporeal elements he feels slipping through the fingers of his very being, and it is also the true root of his distress. The old days had given him the chance to stand at the helm of his own ship, the confidence and charisma to lure beautiful creatures to his side, the nerve to take what he wanted from those that resisted his charms. All ingredients in the cup of false control that he’d eagerly sipped from, but none a winning combination to create a well-balanced cocktail on life’s menu. The resulting mix was intoxicating enough to maintain his delusion, but the truth is that it did little to nourish anything of substance.

He could have regained some semblance of that illusion, despite the seeming eradication of his former lifestyle, for surely there women out there that were still content to subjugate their freedoms to a man. So while the conclusion of his portion of their shared quest had left him feeling powerless, that alone was something he would have eventually moved past. What continues to needle at him is not just the realization that he has always been sociopathic in his tendencies.. it the knowledge that he actually wants to change but does not have the tools to manifest his desire.

Bearing witness to the traumatic deaths of the foals, seeing the Baltians and Stratosians wailing in grief and preparing to fight for the lost lives of their children had tugged at strings he had not known he possessed. Perhaps, at his core, he had uncovered envy for connections so tightly twined that they produced such dramatic responses. He had engendered the loyalty and affection of the mares in his herd, but he had never seen most of them as more than a means to satisfy his cravings. As for the children, the bonds were so frail that he could barely remember their names while they lived with him.

Her voice pulls him back to the present again. She wants to know how long he has lived here. Does he even know the answer to this seemingly simple question? No, not really. ”I was born not long after Beqanna herself.. so, centuries. I wouldn’t say that I’ve really lived though.” The sheerest veil of regret wraps itself gently around his statement, but he is swift in discarding it before it can fully settle into his voice.

When he asks of her past, it is as though she spills ink across the pages of the annals of her life to protect them from his prying eyes and it is entirely predictable. He does not begrudge her the acidity of her words, nor does he let it erode at him, for defenses are rarely dropped so easily when they’ve stood for as long as hers have. However, the raw emotions seep between the cracks and rolls them over his tongue, taking in their flavors, still wondering the nature of their creation. This is when he realizes that though he cannot be sure that he’ll be able to provide the same for her, there are lessons to be learned from the guarded woman, for she knows of the kinship that has been lacking in his life.

But, if she is unwilling to share the details, then perhaps he will have to take his tuition elsewhere. The idea does not seem as daunting now that he better understands what he is searching for, but he is also not ready to abandon this opportunity. So he listens patiently as confidence replaces bitterness and she asks of his wings and horn. ”No, I’d barely begun to accept that they actually exist before you showed up.” She referred to the horn as a weapon and this fits with the appearance she creates. He tips his horn toward her as non-threateningly as possible. ”As for this.. I’ve never been a soldier, so I wouldn’t even know where to begin. It sounds as though you do. Perhaps you can teach me someday.”

He’d never sworn allegiance to a king or queen, thus had never been called into service. In fact, he could not even recall a time when another man had called him out, seeking to separate him from his prized ladies. He does not know anything of the returning lands yet, but perhaps this inaction would no longer stand beneath the potential to learn the art of war, or even the nuances of diplomacy. But those are still part of a distant future that he is not quite ready for, so he circles back to the moment of vulnerability that she had shown him.

”I’m sorry that your ‘reward’ is not as straightforward as what I’ve been given..” Sarcasm drips heavily from his tongue at the word ‘reward’, for he is not sure that is an appropriate term for anything that they’d received from the sprites. ”You can tell me about it, if you like.” He pauses, remembering her hesitancy to divulge the deeper parts of herself. He wonders if an offer of familiarity might be the key that she needs to open the lock she keeps everything under. ”And if it makes a difference, my name is Assailant.”