Each step he took, he expected disaster: Midas coming out of the woodwork, Mirage descending as a giant dragon, the sun sliding out of the sky, his brain randomly hitting the magic tap and bleeding himself dry... It was almost as if each hoof that touched the warm ground yearned to lift off again, and retrace the motion that brought it down, rewind the tape before the end—before things had a chance to get out of hand. He didn't even know where the unwillingness came from. He'd stood steadfast in the midst of battle against a foe many had never faced, had held his ground and played his cards, putting all his faith in hope... It had been the only way. The only way. And somehow, they'd held it together, pushed to the brink of their existence. Fail then, and they would have failed forever.

Against that, he had stood resolute. Yet here he was, wanting to back out of a forest he knew like the back of his hoof—out of the land he knew so well. Helovia: Hellovia. The shuffling of his feet slowed, until they were all four on the ground, and none lifted to move forward. He couldn't even pinpoint the source of it.. fear? Wariness? He knew they wanted him, Mirage, Kri, and their hounds. He knew many things he had done, and more he hadn't. Was it death he feared? Death, at their hooves? Since when had he feared death? A slight frown creased his face; he didn't like the notion of that. But it didn't feel like that.. like it was fear.. even against their hypocritical minds and biased logic, surely the truth would prevail?

The truth. Sannleikann. A sour smile curled his lips. The truth was the truth. Heiðarleiki. As he turned to Sarazheha, who was watching him with quiet consternation, a voice cut through the warm forest: "Mauja?!"

And so, I am found.
There was no turning back now.
The sun was still in the sky.

"Eitthvað hefur breyst," he murmured to his brother, who nodded, still so dark and watchful of eye. Mauja swallowed. The sun still shone. His magic hadn't exploded in his mind, in his veins, through the ground. No one had come to abduct him. He knew who it was that crashed through the forest, making such noise—knew her by voice alone. Loyalty, anger, care, and here she was, crying out for him as he returned. It was so easy to become bitter, to wonder if he deserved it, if she would, if she knew; if she would assume?

Her mane was flying every which-way, tangled up in the air, until it fell against her pearly white neck. "You're back," she said with such a radiant smile it almost made him heartsick. He felt like some kind of villain standing there, something dark and heavy in the presence of an angel. "Yes," he simply said, eying her for a moment, distant and blue—before the sun broke through. Dark lips pulled into a smile, head bowed, and the four feet which had been so firmly planted in the soil drew him forward, to bring his black muzzle close to hers. "I am."