He moved closer to her and tentatively she reciprocated, her muzzle reaching out in an attempt to touch his neck in a gesture of affection and heartfelt apology. She had been selfish to flee like a coward the moment she grew too tired of her mother's treatment; a true warrior would have stood tall against the abuse, ignored it and bettered herself. Instead she had abandoned her family and condemned her father to five years of guilt, a crime she could never forgive herself for. "i shouldn't have left. i was...weak, and thought that you would be better suited to just having dexter, a strong son." He had been but a newborn colt when Nyx had left, and she had already seen an expression in her mother's eyes that had never been there when looking upon Nyx herself - love. Dexter had been strong, untainted by blindness, destined to grow up into a powerful stallion - a child for Querida and Nato to truly be proud of.

Nato returned her own question to her, and the silver woman was silent for a moment as she mulled over how to respond. "the last i saw of them, dexter was only a few weeks old and you both seemed so...happy with him. he was the child you deserved, and so i left, hoping to better myself and return one day when i was stronger. alas, before i could, isilme was destroyed, and i have not seen my mother or brother since then." Had they died in the awe-inspiring natural disasters created by the war between the Original foals? Nyx had watched from a distance, felt the ground rumble as Isilme was torn apart. "after that, when i turned two, i found a herd to run with. it was a simple life - we fought the occasional war, but it was nothing like isilme. it was almost peaceful, and the only duty i had was to bear a child to the reigning stallion whenever i was able. you're a grandfather now, i'm afraid." She flashed him a playful grin, praying he wouldn't take offence again to this vague mention of his age. For all Nyx knew, her own foals could have been parents by now; she could well be a grandmother, and Nato a great-grandfather, without even knowing it. "a few months back, the leading stallion died without a replacement, and our herd disbanded. i found my way here and...well, you know the rest." She fell silent, her cold blue eyes fixed on her sire's crimson ones, awaiting his reaction to her tale. He hoped he would not think her a failure for enjoying the years of peace since the fall of Isilme; she could fight, but was not a warrior by design. Most of her fights had come in self-defence or to protect her foals, and only a handful had been slain by her sword - these had almost all been accidents, and had left her feeling guilty and wicked.