Anxious, restless, the bloody knight paces the snowy arena he has returned to, scowl prominent on his face. Kicking at clumps of the frozen flakes he bristles, teeth grinding as mercury irises shred the horizon as if it will somehow make it reveal that which he so desires. He had been the one to abandon them, so why should he feel this way, as if he was the one at a loss? He misses her golden smile, her beautiful sea foam eyes, the way she sounded when she laughed or cooed playfully, the flicker of celestial color upon her coat...even the way she moved, especially when she wasn't purposefully trying to be enticing, made his heart ache in memory. And his daughters, what of them? Did they even recall his face, his name? He deserved any hatred they held for him. But oh how he missed her, his little sinful angel, with her tempting smile and sweet scent, the way she danced in the sky like it was where she as born. The very thought of someone else seeking her love, or her returning it, made his blood boil and murder enter his thoughts. Phaedra was his and only his, and damn it he needed to be free, to leave and just see her already. It had been too long. She was like a drug, one he gleefully pursued for another taste, another hit. Was he the same for her?

Crimson pillars shove through the snow, on his way to the rocky path leading in and out of the Basin to see her in that very moment, when he hears it; sniffling. So long on his own, experiencing everything that had given him the gruesome scars on his handsome coat, had only improved his vigilance. At first he continues to walk, not really caring that someone was crying and upset. It wasn't his problem, so why should he waste time stopping and confronting the person when he was the farthest person from consoling and patriarchal?

But then the wind whips lazily, and the scent is familiar, the name already in his mind before it truly registers. Frost Fyre? Frowning he angles towards the scattered caves to his left, pale face taut. There is a loyalty to the little bay appaloosa fae in his burned and bruised heart, and a worry for her begins to grow. There is no stopping now, as he turns and places one more print into the snow, path officially diverted to figure out what causes her such pain. Tolio knows pain, it is a friend to him, but it should not have preyed upon one so young. Why could he never protect the ones he loved? Were the scars on his frame and heart not enough, not large enough a sacrifice to warrant sparing them the pain he deserved?

Like a crumpled doll she is lying on the frozen floor of the cave, tears wetting her face so heavily he wonders how they have not frozen and trapped her face to the floor. Okay, he needs to be emotional here, sensitive. He shouldn't be envisioning that. But she has quieted, and Tolio knows with a sigh of sorrow that leaves his maw just how painful that kind of despair is. When you no longer have the power, the energy, to continue crying. When you're so broken you stop trying to gather all the pieces.

His hooves click quietly on the solid floor beneath him, and shamelessly gets to his knees beside her, reaching out and pulling her to him with his neck draped over her shoulders. I am here, Frost. He whispers it, soft and low, into her aurals as he holds her close to his side. Shifting slowly so as not to disturb her too much he moves to a more comfortable position without over wincing over the piercing cold poking at his shins and stomach, never once letting her go as he shares and gives support, warmth, a place to hide. Let it out...tell me what makes you cry so. He squeezes her gently to emphasize what he said, flicking his tail to rest over her hip in an attempt to share his body heat. His short, tuft of a mane was no longer long enough to do the job.

What did she do to deserve your hand on her shoulder? he quietly muses, as if Pain and Sorrow are real figures, and sighs quietly against her skin.