Apollo didn't mind in the slightest as Lakota kept herself pressed against him, quivering with fear and emotions that he himself could only dream she may be feeling. Fear, sadness, heartbreak...? He wasn't certain, but Apollo would his beloved Poisoner all the time that she needed to compose herself. They had been through so much; she had saved him and Phaedra, they had experienced the rise and fall of the Grey, the pain of loss and swelling pride of success. Brother and sister they were not in blood, but in kinship... They were.

Others joined them but the Merciful paid them little heed, all save the draft-mutt stallion that took Apollo a moment to recognize. Who? Still, it seemed that Lakota recognized him, and perhaps that was for the best. It was Tharos, the stallion that Apollo had fought when the Grey had taken the Foothills... But the overo Chief felt no bitterness towards the other male. Now was not the time for past grudges or belittlements, so he simply let Lakota speak for him as she finally pulled herself away.

His honey-brown orbs lingered upon her beautiful violet, and beneath her emotional gaze, he read her silent message loud and clear. Of course. He responded with a simple dip of his head, miniscule to any other save the loyal Poisoner. As she seemed to gain control of herself, Lakota spoke more, talking of their Oracles and... Promotion? What? It was with a mild jump of fear in his heart that Apollo learned of Phaedra's abdication of title of "Chieftess", but... If she had surrendered her spot to anyone, Apollo was glad it was to Lakota. Fiery, loyal, and driven by kinship she was, and he believed that she would be a fine leader to call Chieftess.

"Your promotion is welcome, sister." Apollo breathed out gently, letting the Poisoner know that all was well. Indeed, there was a lot that he and Lakota needed to discuss. Away from prying ears, of course.

"I can still heal," Apollo commented idly, finally tearing his gaze away from Lakota's lavender orbs and focusing on the others around them, focusing on Midas, "A gift I received many moons ago. Midas, do you remember? I am no longer a Medic, but I can still doctor any in need. It would be my honor to do so, brother." A small, short whuff of a breath escaped the Merciful's nostrils, and he reached out once more to nuzzle Lakota's muzzle warmly. He was glad she was here, with him, in such a tumultuous time. Perhaps together they could help each other survive.

"I have not seen our Oracles, but I pray they've made it safely. I agree that... If we can, we should seek guidance from the Gods. I can only pray that they'll hear our pleas." He glanced around once more and turned his head to Midas. "I am no warrior, Midas, even though we have shed blood upon the battlefield together... If my strength is needed, I will fight, but I would prefer to use my talents of healing to help those who need them. I hope you understand...?"

As two more joined them, Ampere and Mesec, Apollo's breath hitched in his throat upon spotting the familiar dark-body of the Moon-Son. "Mesec," the Merciful stated, relief coating ever syllable, "I'm so relieved to see that you're safe, little brother." The stallion's hope blossomed anew, for who better to help them than a son of the Gods? "Any word from anyone else?"

So few of their numbers had made it... Apollo hoped that they were all safe.