Bloodied red and fiery orange arced across the horizon and into the world of the living, the sun's display of radiant splendor setting the fog aflame, slowly beginning to burn it away. It played against their hides as if they stood near a flickering fire, yet there was only the star slipping into the world of day - he would not have looked at it at all, had not Tamlin's gaze been glued to the horizon and his own chanced to stray across his chastised son's face. From the corner of his eye he saw even Psyche, cruel and dark as she was, enraptured by the display, and for the briefest of moments he chose to forget about life, about mares and unruly children, and others aspiring to his throne. For that moment, a fraction of a heartbeat, the ghost of a smile drifted across his face, the vague notion that this should be right: that it should be the two of them and a child, standing like this, but at peace, and not with tension bonding them together. There was much he'd give for a life which did not constantly seek to trip him up, but if he always bowed his head, meek, and turned to flow with the stream, he would never achieve his goals, or bring the dreams in his head to pass. Somehow, the road he had chosen was a tough one, hammered hard beneath the hooves of a thousand soldiers and the only medium he could think of fitting enough to write it down in was blood. Helovia would not simply roll over at his command; he would have to wrench her from the grasp of his enemies, and bend her to his will with sheer power.

The moment faded, and left him stranded in the dull, listless reality again, wary of the witch come back to his cliff. Where once passion had been, there was only apathy. How had it come to this? He had always been cold of heart, suspicious and quick to distrust, so it was no surprise that he recoiled quickly after being bitten - afraid to get burned again. She ran once, and in his mind, she was doomed to always run until the day she died and hadn't. There was something infinitely sad in the notion, but there was no way he could shake it. That was just the way he was, but knowing it did not always make being any easier. Tamlin remained enchanted by the display of a new day breaking, but Psyche, grown as she was, had returned her attention to him. "Well, darling, I'm sure you know what I want." His ears fell against his neck, disappearing in the thick cascade of white mane, and he nearly growled at her to get out then and there. He didn't need her flirting with him on top of everything else; through the bed was not the way she'd get back into his good graces. Fortunately for her, she had brains enough to remedy her slip of tongue, and he heaved a weary sigh. His ears relaxed from their strained position, but did not flip forward. "No," he agreed tiredly. "You should not have." But you did.

For a moment longer he was silent, before giving his head the slightest of shakes. What harm would it do, to let her back? He doubted she'd had a change of heart and wanted peace, to crawl in the dust with the hornless vermin, so she would do nothing but strengthen his cause - right? "Just don't leave again," he told her quietly, wishing he could smile like he used to and say welcome back with that lopsided grin of his, something warm, happy in his blue eyes, but he couldn't. He couldn't do anything but feel heavy and weighted down, as if his heart was made of iron, his soul of lead. He looked at her for a moment longer, something like confused pain in his gaze, before turning to nudge Tamlin's hip. "Við skulum fara heim." They'd have to go the long way around, because there was no way that he'd climb that ledge a second time that morning.

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