The broken feels strange. Having not thought about the Goddess of the Moon, his shade-bound mistress, it is odd to be reminded of her in such an indirect fashion. Aylin speaks of father earth- the very father earth who guard's Knox's own home with his immortal life. How is it that Knox has never thought to appreciate a goddess as kind and forgiving as the Earth's own king? He has grown, still grows, in the Earth God's domain and never once bowed in his shadow, never once let losse a prayer for the kindest god of them all.

He thinks, then, that perhaps the rain is a sign. Father earth's tears, Aylin had called it. And what are tears? He has known so little for so long, but today he learns that, at the very least.

You let all the bad out when you cry and then all that's left is good

So that means that this rainstorm is in its very own way an expelling of the bad. The Gods share that foul nature, but so too do they share the good left behind. They share the responsibility, dividing its elements and then tending for those below. He feels, very suddenly, quite sorry for having thought so little of the other gods. A slipped whisper springs from betwixt his lips; a soft sigh of exaltation. "Yes, I do." The rain is, for the first time, a gift.

And when the grove appears before them, surrounding their destination, Knox feels his heartbeat quicken. "Come on," he calls to her, turning to look back as he tries to duck beneath the low hanging canopy that crosses over the outcropping of rock. Beneath the rock a small hollow hidden by the low branches is formed, shadowed by the land resting above. Here is where he had spent so many days as a colt, teaching Manhattan all he knew and letting her do the same for him. It is smaller than he remembers, but still warm, and still safe. The familiar scent of rabbit's blood comes from a recently dug hole and fills his nose, and though he hungers he pushes the need aside. It is Manhattan who he seeks now.

Manhattan, who lies alone and hurt at the hollow's edge. He calls to her now, a soft nicker spinning from his lips.

I love you, he tells her. I'm sorry.

And having never heard the words before, she runs to greet him as if nothing had ever come between them, knowing, too that nothing ever will again. She takes no note of Aylin, pressing her head insteaD affectionately against Knox's cannons. He whinnies, a light, laughing sound, and turns to Aylin.

"Aylin, meet Manhattan," he says with a flick of his tail and a fall to a resting position by her side. He thinks for a moment as Manhattan turns to look at the kind mare, thinks of what she truly is to him. He waits, expecting Manhattan to protest, but the mutt says nothing ill of Aylin. There is, after all, nothing ill to be said. He takes up chorus again, his words combatting the heavy sound of rain falling on the floor of the woods overhead. "She is my light."