I realize with a jolt that Rasta can see me. The confusion on her face is evident, and I wonder bemusedly how she'd recovered her sight. I don't question it, but my heart still aches when she leans into my touch. Her tears flow faster than I can brush them away, but I don't give up, because if this simple motion can in any way comfort her then I will do so for as long as she allows me to. Her eyes don't open, after they see me, and I can't find any objection inside my thoughts. Ilaria is well-received where she curls up against Rasta's chest, her fluffy tail curling around the ivory maiden's nearest leg, chirruping quietly in hopes of helping me comfort her. My affection for my bonded is almost overwhelming, and a gentle, knowing wave of love is returned from her. I take strength in that, returning my attention to the crying mare beneath my wing.

Every word I speak is unanswered, and I realize once more that she is mute. Has she somehow switched her ailments? Been granted sight, but taken from the gift of words? I steel myself, because I will be her words. I will tell her everything she needs to hear, because I know she cannot let them flow eloquently like they used to from her own vocal chords. I find myself missing the last time I heard her speak, even if it was during the herd meeting when I'd had to defend her choice of not wanting Gaucho as lead. It was not the best of times, but I would take it any day over this hell we were trapped in.

As I begin to hum, knowing no other way to comfort her verbally, she turns and her lips gently caress my cheek. My own eyes come to a close, focusing only on the vibrations that I share with her, wishing I could be wiser. Smarter. More eloquent. Anything to construct better words with which to reassure her that she is loved and wanted. She may no longer bear the smell of desert flowers and clay, but she is still my sister, my kin. Blood may not be shared between us, but I do not need it to love her as I love my father or Hototo. Ilaria gives a soft, pleased sound when Rasta dips her head to pull her closer. Tiny, soft paws move to wrap around Rasta's features, far more gentle than others give her credit for. Ilaria has always been so gentle, so wise. Sassy and commanding she may be, but she has the heart of a lion, and she gives soft, sweet sounds to soothe the lass we are determined to comfort.

She hides beneath my wing, which are so large in my age now- they had been pretty massive as a foal, I had been both blessed and cursed with them- that it nearly completely conceals her. "I am not good with words, Rasta. I do not know what else to say. When I was a foal, I could barely even speak, abandoned by my mother as I was. But I can always offer this. Ilaria and I, we are always here to hold you. Even if you don't want to tell us why, even if it's just to come and lay with us only to leave again. We will warm you with our love and touch. It's all we can offer. But we offer it gladly, with no reservations or rules." I murmur it into her ear, bending my head beneath my own wing, and lip gently at her forelock should she remain where she is and accept such an action. I just want her to smile. I doubt that she will. I don't know why, but I know I'm not the one who is the reason for her smiles. That is not the role I play.