His mighty chest sags with relief at the revelation that Arah has been found alive and well. He would not want his brother - or his worst enemy - to go through what he went through with his precious wife, the love of his life. Even thinking about it now makes his heart constrict, as though caught in a vice of pure misery. The stag attempts to clear his mind, not wanting his thoughts to drift in that dangerous and depressing direction. They say time heals, but even several years after the event it's rare that Bartholomeo doesn't dream or think about the double loss of his mate and son. Such grief is simply too immense to ever lose.

He's relieved when Aelfwine speaks again, pulling the ship of his thoughts away from those dangerous waters. He laughs his booming cacophony of a laugh as his sister tells him she wouldn't name a child after him for fear of it turning into a miniaturised version of him, and he thinks with a grin of little Byron. "Poor Tilney. If the name's anything to go by, he's going to have his hands full." The lad had seemed smart, spunky and so beautifully full of life, and again Bartholomeo's thoughts wander lethally towards Jack. He snatches them back with experience born of years of smothering his sorrow, and concentrates his full attention on his sibling.

Unfortunately, the stallion isn't quite as good at getting rid of the images now planted in his head of Aelfwine rolling around in the sack with a whole line of men, some of whom suddenly grow the faces of the pirate's former crew. He shudders and tries to burn the images away with whatever mind-bleach he can get his hooves on. "Mystical whore?" The man's apoplectic voice is punctuated by a great guffaw of laughter. "You should have taken the payment, sister. Might as well fill your pockets from the misfortune of the poor bastard." He flashes her a grin then quickly jumps out of kicking range.

That smile of his fades slightly as she asks if he intends to stick around. The simple answer is yes, but the reason why is both humiliating and fury-inducing. "Well, you may have noticed I'm lacking a few possessions now." He's still not used to feeling so light, to having his sides be devoid of the comforting clang of his swords. "I was ambushed just outside Helovia, and the vagabonds took everything. My weapons, my trinkets, even Carlisle's sash." Here his handsome face creases into a troubled frown. "The thieves ran into Helovia, hence my appearance here, then scattered to the four winds. I intend to hunt them down, retrieve my possessions, and kick the ever-living shit out of them for good measure." He stomps an authoritative hoof. "Keep an eye out for anybody with items that look like mine, sister. And try not to sleep with them." He flashes her another wolfish, cheeky grin.

Again it fades as he realises the time may have come for him to talk about what happened, to fill in the gaps between this meeting and their last. "I suppose it is my turn to tell the story," he says, and his eyes grow haunted in anticipation.