The broken says nothing to the dark mare, he only watches. The grip of her words on his mind is strong, and he doesn't allow it to falter. She commands him to stop, and in the instant his features stop to settle on his own. His mane flutters in the light breeze, his eyes brim with the manifestation of pain.

He realizes he has not thanked her—as he listens to her speak, speak ultimate truths that echo in the confines of his breast, he thinks about all she has dared to say that he has not. And she is right, every word she speaks is truth and wisdom. In the recesses of his mind, Roanne reminds him of an important fact: Aylun is hur muthur's daughtur.

And so he says it, letting his words strike open air, but not before turning away from her completely. "Thank you, Aylin. You are right, and... I will look. Maybe I'll find something in me I didn't know was there before." Is it hard for him to say to her face? He isn't sure; he is never quite sure.

As he turns away from her completely to sigh into the open air, he smiles slightly, faintly. It is a sad sort of smile, but an upturn of the lips nonetheless. Perhaps there is a slight spot of wet stinging his cheek, darkening a line across the delicate markings of his dapples and washing away impurity. Perhaps it is simply a splatter of the newly beginning drizzling rain seeping through the canopy.

Whatever it is, it brings him peace. The darkness has begun to settle, and with the shadow has come rain. It starts slow and soft, a simple pattering of a sky's tears against earth, but hastens its pace until it falls steadily. He looks back to Aylin, the rain quickly disguising the faint trace of a tear and soaking his thickening coat. His mane plasters against his features, tangling across and beneath the firm straps of his bridle.

"Come on, let's get out of the rain," he says over the sound of it, calling back to where she stands still only a few strides away. He closes his eyes, letting the water rush over him and picturing in his mind's eye the map of the woods where he grew up. His eyes snap open at the memory of a place, hoping at the same time that Manhattan has thought the same as himself. He starts to walk forward, through the woods and towards the small, peaceful glade at the edge of the forest where the trees bend low cover the sky. "I... I know a place."