She saw the tears in his eyes, watched them all as they ran down his face and stained his dark cheek. He stood there, close to the wall, getting as close as possible as he could against the shivering rocks. She didn’t understand why he was crying, it didn’t solve anything at all. It was pointless – worthless. If he was hurt, he must’ve been hurt bad. The only time she had ever seen a man cry was when they were really upset – or if they were just plain out, big babies. But this one was upset, unlike any other. That was a first.

Hellä stood at a distance, making sure to keep herself firmly in the shadows of the corners. He could not see her, even if she did want to give him a person to talk to, she had to stay here. The girl had known studs for the short-temper tantrums, and if the male felt threatened, he might as well attack. From the way he looked, he was having one of those days where the world felt as if it was against you. No matter what force you put your messy self into, the world would crush you till your last dying breath. Hellä had felt that before; several times to be accurate. Her general position back in Isilme had pushed and pushed until she could no longer take it, and then she left. She disappeared from the reaches of the crushing hand, she had run until her heart sunk to her hooves, barely pumping the blood through her restless body.

And now, here she was, watching as a dark steed got crushed by that invisible force, dying from the pressure that she once had to deal with herself. She knew the pain that it brought; the tears, the loneliness, and the dying wish. She knew it all, and didn’t want to meet it again. Hellä was lucky she had escaped it the first time. But she was not sure that she was the same as she had been before the attack. Maybe she had changed, even the slightest where she couldn’t all believe it because she couldn’t see it. Perhaps she couldn’t even feel it.

Suddenly, the thunder of hooves caught her attention. She grasped for air before noticing the black stallion taking off at full speed. What the--? Hellä didn’t waste her time finishing her thoughts; she took off, trailing behind him. But unlike him, she stayed light-footing, hoping he would notice that he was being followed. His steps were heavy, filled with might and power, shaking the ground with the lose stones crackling against the hard floor. She crept quietly, learning easily from past battles, that it came in handy.

When Hellä noticed the stud was heading towards the entrance, she veered off to the nearest corner, hiding from him when he stopped. She peered around the ledge, watching as he took his last step forward and then looked toward the entering. There stood a mare, but none of the ones she had ever seen. She was one of those ugly, discussing, humiliating wraiths. She sneered, but she didn’t move. Hellä held firm in her position, listening to the, somewhat deadly, conversation. She had to choke for air when he asked the mare a question, "What have you done with my daughter!?"

That was his daughter?