I was restored. Months of poor upkeep prior to my arrival at the World’s Edge all but disappeared, rendered trivial in face of the healer’s power. When I thought of her, gratitude stirred in my breast, though confusion marred the power of the feeling. Rarely had I found myself in debt to another – my profession dictated the dynamic worked in the opposite direction. Yet the reality remained, and I wondered what I might do to repay my debts. I was no coward who wished to throw them off as burdens, but I felt keenly the need to serve in some way. Perhaps it was merely a social need manifesting, capable of display only due to my improved condition. Too long had I wandered through the world, my thoughts askew. I must collect them – reorder them. Though I was lowly, I did not intend to remain so.

     The forest rose as a dark, many-headed shadow all around me. Common sense dictated I should fear the compressed space, but my previous time spent in such a woodland brought only pleasant memories. It was through those I sorted as I moved, hooves beginning necessary exploration though much of the land was veiled beneath a low covering of cloud. I wondered if the fog was a common phenomenon here; distantly my ears caught the crashing of waves on rock, and my improved sense of smell filtered the bitter tang of salt from the air. So it was a coastal forest? Unlike my Woodlands, then. These trees, anyway, were nowhere near as dark – they stood straight and scattered enough to dismiss any notion of captivity, or secrecy (a pity).

     I had not expected to yearn for my old home as I did. Upon leaving Isilme, I had not expected to be stricken by more than an inkling of melancholy. Of course, in the back of my mind, yet unburied by excuse, lay the cold fact of my long-ago flight: that in a time of need and weakness I had laid my herd low, quite unnecessarily. I had struck a match, and the flame spread farther than any nightmare may have warned.

     My hooves struck grass; light diffused more brilliantly through the fog. Beyond the cage of trees, the roar of the ocean greeted me like a living thing, and cautiously I paused. I had no way of divining an end to the meadow, or measuring the nature of the sea beyond; I had no wish to throw my body off a cliff so soon after returning to life. I paused instead, and without interest began picking at winter’s late scraps of meadow. If I wished to serve at all, I should focus on regaining my body’s meager strength. Though never a particularly inspiring creature, I had at least been fit, in my youth. Certainly I could do better than this skeletal wreck, ragged flesh hung over creaking bones.

     I ate quite alone, and yet the scents of others lay thick on the grass. They were here, perhaps nearby – my herd mates. Kindly creatures, I supposed – Evangeline would lead me to no nest of barbarians, though I sometimes doubted her ability to call failure where failure ought to be called. She, too, was kind… I wondered where she had gone off to – not far, certainly. I had already gathered she did not serve this herd as healer; though I had no place in directing her life’s course, I did wonder at the choice – and much besides. What had led her here, and had she come alone? Did others I know move about in the fog, unbeknownst to me? A million aching thoughts, all swarming tireless against the inside of my skull. I had quite forgotten the phenomenon, in my illness. But I did not regret.

     ”Ruske!” My own name drifted through the fog. It sang sweetly in my ears – familiar. ”Evangeline?” I answered quietly, convinced my thoughts had conjured the sound. How else did she manage to arrive precisely when I desired her company? But no – she spoke again, the sound like a ghost in the fog. I lifted my head the better to seek her out; she was only the distant noise of hoof beats, muffled. Like playing hide and seek.

     ”Evangeline!” I called more loudly, voice rattling hoarse in the very depths of my lungs. Shortly thereafter I suppressed a cough, my tail flicking angrily in response. Would the damned memory never truly retreat? With a shake of my head, I stepped forward. My appetite fled; I had no desire to eat with Evangeline nearby. We had much to discuss, she and I… things more suitably brought up at our initial reunion, but such had been my condition, I remembered only very faintly that first sight of her, the odd sensation I had forgotten myself again and wandered into a dream… Yet it had proved real enough, and I was whole again, if terribly diminished – almost enough to regret meeting the young mare in my present state, though not entirely.

     ”Follow my voice” I spoke blindly into the fog. Was that her shape, a shadow – just there? I could not be sure; the distant ocean, the low cloud cover, the trees – all played uncanny tricks with the properties of sound. I paused, tail switching again. ”I am indeed here, and I would like to speak with you.” Perhaps it was fitting I should be lost within the confines even of my own home – home, how strange a word. I snorted. Couldn’t the dragon, at least, show her the way? Or had it become useless in its old age? I had no inkling of such a creature’s lifespan – perhaps Evangeline knew. I would ask, once other things were handled properly.

     And there: my eyes at last caught a shape darker than the clouds, light as they were with sunlight. Soon I supposed they may burn off; I would appreciate the absence of the clinging cold. But I swallowed my discomfort and stepped toward Evangeline, the orange colors of her hide visible as the water vapor shifted. ”There you are. You are well, I hope?” I cast a keen eye over her shape. She appeared healthy – moreso than myself. I nodded. ”This place is nothing like the Woodlands.” I remembered bitterly; my last moments beneath the trees had smelled of smoke. Speaking aloud, I was struck anew by guilt, and fell silent. Difficult to look her in the eye, with years between us and the wreckage of an old camaraderie. I could not hope she had awaited my return with any optimism – better to be forgotten, and see my friend with a new life, than to have been remembered, a burden even in my absence.

     Her voice was sweet – far sweeter with her face in sight, joy brilliant in the jewel-green of her eyes. ”I’m glad that you came back to me” -- Who else ever noted my absence? Something quivered in the darkness of my chest: the worn and weary twitching of a muscle overworked. ”My dear –“ I swallowed, teeth clicking hard over the word. Wasn’t she much too old for such endearment? Wasn’t I? The very end of my tail twitched as, anxious, I glanced away. My seasons of vagrancy had done me no favors. At last, conciliatory, I finished: ”I’ve missed you as well.” Though the tone was wry – perhaps self-conscious. I was not accustomed to being looked after – did not know what to do with this affection, which originated from no particular need and survived despite the gulf of time and distance between us. Yet unable to restrain myself, I inched toward her, muzzle outthrust to touch her neck – only briefly. A sign of companionship, perhaps. I had come; I was quite well. Fate would not see us parted again soon, I decided then. I did not like the gleam of sorrow in her eyes.

     Had I ever known Evangeline without sadness? Perhaps a younger version of myself supposed it her own business, if she grew sad or happy. But if I were her friend, I ought to mind – I had no one else, and knew too keenly the bite of despair when it reached its black claws into the brain. ”Are you unhappy here?” I had not given any time to such a thought. Did she feel stifled? Or was something amiss, which I had not managed to grasp in my short time amongst the trees? I stepped back, shifting my lean weight over the grind of old bones, and cocked an eye at the thinning fog, the shadows of young trees. It had not occurred to me before, but if I could, I wished… to do what I may, in order to see her happy.

     Of course, I regretted the impulse the moment the question left her lips. Where had I gone? Away – within my own head, screaming at shadows. I had fled, and left her behind… Whatever madness made the choice, I could not call it anything but a part of me. A long, ragged sigh moved through my chest. ”I fled,” I told her simply. Unable to look her in the eye – afraid of what I might find – I peered into the wilted grass beneath our feet (coward). ”I suspected all I knew of Isilme would soon be broken, but I did not wish to die – so I left. Had I any sense, I might have tried to find you, but I supposed…” Oh, what? I had supposed her dead; I had supposed the herd broken by my own folly, our best soldier burned to cinders, and rightfully furious. Might I have returned to help? Of course – of course. But I had not wanted to; I had been afraid.

     ”I went nowhere in particular,” I said. ”I wandered here and there. It was… I had considered Isilme my home, as no other place had been.” How foolish the sentiment felt – but true. Afresh, I grew angry with myself. ”Where could I have gone? I thought perhaps I would find others, but I never did. And I grew ill…” With a shake of my head, I banished thoughts of my long exile. At last, I glanced up, searching for her eyes – for the sight of judgment, anger, empathy. I knew her too well to expect rebuke, but still I wished for it – if only so I may be at peace, somehow, within myself.

     Though I knew as well I deserved no peace.

     ”I am sorry I left you,” I muttered. The roughness in my voice had little to do with my past illness, though I wished it had. ”I am a fool.”

     I remained silent as Evangeline explained her discomfort. She had grown up in the Woodlands; perhaps it seemed a part of her, the loss as irreconcilable as the loss of a limb. I felt no such attachment – only a brooding melancholy – but the majority of my young life had been nomadic. For Evangeline… I regretted again my actions against Roanne, guilt sliding like a blade between my ribs. If nothing else, I never aided our cause; at worst, I had precipitated our destruction.

     And Evangeline’s current state.

     She did not blame me; this she made quite clear, her touch as gentle as her words. I gave no outside indication of my thoughts; I did not wish to trouble her anymore. More pitiful, perhaps, I enjoyed her praise and her companionship, both. She had grown from a wise but frail young child to a resilient mare, capable of shouldering far more than she ought (so much more). I ought not think of her as a child anymore, or as an apprentice… But merely accepting her as a friend, no greater business necessitating our interaction, felt wholly alien. I was a creature of service; I was not certain I had, in all my years, enjoyed a relationship such as that. Pitiable, perhaps, but I never regretted the fact.

     I supposed we might support each other, if the world had rendered us isolate and yet thrown us together. With a low sigh, I studied her face again. Her tone grew near indignation as she rebuked my previous apology. One of my ears cocked back in mild distress; I should have known better than to accept blame. A simper tweaked at my features as she finished; with a tilt of my head I answered, no hostility in my voice but perhaps a touch of amusement. ”And yet you remained? My gaze fell to the tiny marks across her shoulders – unnoticed until now. She, younger than I and owing far less to the world, had remained.

     I swallowed past some large obstruction in my throat.

     ”Your faith is astounding,” I said at last. Slowly, I turned the next words over before speaking them. ”I am glad to have found you, Evangeline. Seeing you well lays to rest many of my concerns… But you must have found a better occupation than searching for me?” I would have been glad to hear she spent no time in such pursuit; I wished to know she had found business elsewhere. Companionship elsewhere. I was only one old man, no fit acquaintance for the likes of her; she ought find other company, as well. ”How long have you been here?” I asked, perhaps to prompt her, rather than receive another lecture on the justice of my own graceless stupidity. ”What do you know of this herd? Their intentions seem noble, to me, but I would prefer a more seasoned opinion.” Briefly I paused to blink at the morning. Gradually the fog lifted around us, inviting the distant roar of the ocean and the cool, distant kiss of the sun. ”Did any others… find this place?” I voiced the last question low, uncertain what answer I expected. I certainly hoped never to meet Roanne again, but many of the others… I had a little fondness for them, in my heart. They may have made good students. We may have been great.

     ”Sometimes I still hear them.” I nodded; the memory of darkness swam sick in my blood, in the back of my mind. But it could only linger more severely for her – she had fought them. I blinked at her in silence, unable to dredge up comfort when I myself had found none. ”They are gone,” I murmured. My gaze grew distant, peering into some other time. ”But they will always remain. It happens that way, with trauma…” In the past, I had so often shied from the word – from admitting my own suffering. Perhaps old age rendered me honest. Perhaps Evangeline did. I sighed, in that moment aware of the weight in my own skeleton, my own tired form.

     She spoke again; my ears twitched to catch the words, gentle as they were – yet nearly a rebuke. Amusement, wry and sour, twisted at the despair wriggling through my thoughts. Faith. I snorted a small, sardonic laugh. ”I am here.” For whatever I was worth; I shook my mane out, came forward a small step. I will be here, I thought, all the same. I won’t leave you again. Though I wished, at the same time, I had more to offer – some advice, perhaps. But I had even less than faith.

     My expression – twisted with wry amusement – fell flat with an alarmed snort in response to her next word. Love. Strange that anything should ever love me – I who, had so rarely confessed the sin, myself. What good did it do, for anyone? I blinked at her. Yes, comforted by the depth of her affect, but – my ears twitched back, only for a moment. Love. I stared at the receding fog as she spoke of Validino – I spent a long moment remembering the name. Then with a jerk my head lifted up, the darker eye cast toward her in brief, violent indignation.

     ”The same who stole you from the Woodlands?” And, in doing so, precipitated our first meeting – but that mattered nothing, when I so disdained the creature in the first place. Some brutal strength of conscience seized me, though, and I bit my tongue from further blackening the creature’s name. Perhaps there had been some good in him – no, Evangeline had seen some good in him – as, it seemed, she had a way of seeing good where there was none. I found my stature drawn tall, rangy and skeletal though I was. Her next words worked a long moment at penetrating my brain, but in doing so at least distracted me – twins? I let my head down, dismissing old injustice. ”They would return to you, if they wished to.” I had no counsel to offer in such a vein; my own children were lifetimes ago, likely left to die in the mud with everyone else. I could not recall their names – had I ever known. ”But it is not your duty to keep them. Let them have their lives…” I sighed. For what it is worth. ”I would like to see them, though. And Validino…” Hard though the word grated off my tongue – and he, gone, too? I was not necessarily vindictive, but I felt a bitter anger in the back of my mind. ”Perhaps it is better that way,” I muttered at last, mostly to myself. ”Let those who go, go. And those who come back…” Another sigh; restless. My thoughts tangled: shadows and old names, and new troubles. I was getting to old for all of this.

     At least news of the herd might become objective: something I received without concern. I nodded as she spoke of Kaj – so at least I had a name. ”I’m glad,” I muttered, absently. Imagining Kahlua disposed toward indignation in the face of my kind was a… disturbing thought. And why? I barely knew her; she owed me nothing. I shook my head. ”A pity to see racism extends to these lands, as well.” I nodded as she listed off names – most unfamiliar to me. And recounted having missed Roanne. ”Perhaps he is dead, then.” I said the word without much feeling, tail twitching away at my hocks. Despite the previous guilt, despite everything… Did I even continue to care? ”Unnerving,” I grunted at last. ”Everything we worked for, rendered to ash. How many times can one begin anew?” A question for the gods; I had no answer, though life seemed committed to pulling one from me.

     I listened – perhaps for the first time. A year ago, I thought I had understood Evangeline… Perhaps not. New facets of her turned to my attention as she spoke, and I wondered – if she had grown. If I had.

     "Perhaps." I disliked the talk of shades; they clustered ever in the corners of my mind, hungry. But they were not the first such enemies to dwell there; perhaps that made the difference, between Evangeline’s perception of them and my own. "It hardly matters," I muttered. My patience grew thin with her continued worrying. If the shades did find Helovia... Well. I knew very well I would run again, but I was not so certain I would feel guilt as I had before. My body grew resistant to it, as the body does with poison – and perhaps with fear. I had become too tired for fear, and for the grind of idle speculation. I peered into the distance as she spoke of Validino; my thoughts ground incessantly regardless of my attempts to silence them.

     The world was ugly, everywhere.

     "You cared for him?" I supposed she must, if the sadness in her eyes was any indication – in the heaviness of her frame, the dull hollow ringing of her tone. "I'm sorry," I ended, my tone rough. She continued on; I could only listen in silence, comprehending but not understanding. She did not think of others as I did; she attached to them. I drew my lopsided gaze over her shape, aware (however uncertainly) that I had certainly become attached to her. Dependent. I had nearly died, in her absence.

     My ears tilted back; fine muscles of my mouth gathered in a frown.

     "You cannot hold on to everyone." I had never held on to anyone – had been content to watch them go. Hadn’t I? "Perhaps they are happier without you." It sounded cruel; I started as the words left my mouth, realization dawning a moment too late. But I had always seen it that way – my own path separate and no less important than whatever wanderings went on around me. More important, even. But how much of that had been untrue?

     "You are important, of course," I snapped at last. The tip of my tail twitched, betraying unease. "You are the only person I have chosen not to leave behind. So take heart in that." Whatever it meant. "I cannot say I understand your attachment to whatever others you have come across, but I assure you – any who would leave you behind are likely unworthy of your affection, in the first place. Love is not like blood; it does not run out. I would not know how to measure it, if it did, anyway." That sentence punctuated with a snort. "You will find others, I am sure." I found myself resenting the thought, as I said it – others who would cause her pain? No; it was insufferable. I vowed, privately, to keep a more watchful eye on her. She was far too good for the world we inhabited – too forgiving. The world ate forgiveness. It ate kindness.

     Its only purpose, in retrospect, seemed to lie with draining the good out of a man.

     I nodded, my gaze searching for hers once more. Something troubled roiled in my chest – malcontent. Racism, pain, heartbreak… It was all the same anywhere, wasn’t it? I grew tired of those games. "At least it is not the case here, anymore," I allowed. "I am not certain I would understand, if I found you allying yourself with racists." Was it a joke? It came out wryly, but I felt a kernel of indignation in it – that same part of myself which made poor decisions. Which had set Roanne aflame. Which had, so long ago, been nearly snuffed out by the hard hooves of soldiers.

     "Fortunately, that was not a conversation which needed to occur." I sidled forward then, stretching my limbs. "I am glad to have found you, of course. But there is much else I need to learn – about this place. Once I am not so wrecked." I cast a wry glance in her direction and lowered my head to snatch up, absently, a mouthful of grass.

     I had misspoken.

     I knew it – knew, and yet continued speaking anyway, as if I could prompt her to forget the insult, as if the insult had never occurred. But Evangeline wilted before my eyes. She was not invincible, of course. She was only a mare – one often hurt, one who had trusted me…

     Perhaps that had been a mistake. I realized it as I broke away, feigning nonchalance, hoping perhaps for such apathy in return. If she thought me a safe creature it must only be due to my care, in the past, where she was concerned. Now… did she no longer deserve care, on my part? No – not the point, not at all. “I did not…” But my intention hardly mattered – I had spoken unkindly. Frustrated, I let my ears tilt back, small voice to the broil of irritation beating at my ribs. I had meant to assuage guilt, rather than cause more!

     But she misunderstood, and I found myself watching her go as, gradually, the light faded from her brilliant eyes. I had not wanted that -- lifted my head to watch her go, surprised by the vehemence of her retort, surprised perhaps by the iron in her will. Did I expect her to stand idly by when her anger was provoked? No – no. I would never have cared for her, were she so easily cowed.

     But I did care…

     I fixated so intently on the shape her retreating form I forgot Tallis, his presence in my mind always more friend than threat. “Evangeline…!” Some note of irritation rang sharply in my voice, and something else – I had no name for it then, the odd clenching of an old heart. Then the dragon’s shadow fell over me, smoke and orange. I caught sight of him for a moment, attentive to the brilliance of his scales. But the smoke… He opened his jaws a moment later and gave an answer in flame, a long rippling torrent of red and gold – familiar. Phoenix help me, terribly familiar… With a cry, I leapt back, tail wringing, ears pinned. The acrid smell burned at my damaged lungs and coughing, I trailed backward, alarmed and thoroughly turned away -- no doubt now, at all.

     “Evangeline!” Her name left me again, a shuddering shout, moved in part by fear and in part by rage. “I did not…” But she was gone, as thoroughly as ever anyone had left me, before. I found I did not care, particularly much, if the fire should spread and swallow me, myself and the Edge… I danced away, heat licking at my hide, and snorted. Was everything I grew accustomed to destined to leave me, success shattered by my own hooves?

     I gave a last look to the flames, eyes rolling, and turned. It was not safe here, perhaps not anywhere. I had managed to crawl back from the brink of death for what? To run, perhaps.

     So I ran.