Through Mara's vision he could see Archibald as he arrived with Loretta. Although he did not know the stallion's relationship with Circe, the knowledge wouldn't have changed the heated reaction that the Wildfire felt growing inside of his soul. It was from the Gods that the dun would find his sentencing, not through the impulsive draft. Grinding his teeth Gaucho remained silent. He owed no apology to any but to the Gods before which he knelt. Gaucho had beaten Archibald in combat once before. He shouldn't have won, and yet he did. That was at a time when his strength in these lands was new, his body not hardened to the ways of Helovia. In that moment, had the congregation of Gods not been present he would happily have responded to the heavily feathered warrior in the manner he apparently sought. But of course he would not, he would remain submissive before those who held his life in his hands, ignoring the stallion whose reputation in his mind was not considerably sullied.

As Cera arrived, Gaucho buried his face deeper into the grasses. If his life was to end, he did not want the last thing he saw to be Cera's heartbroken face, eyes full of pain and confusion. Feeling the feathers gently touch his own wing, Gaucho wondered if the golden prince would understand why he had to do this. If one mistakenly stole, once the deed was revealed wouldn't the almost-thief still owe for the things he took? And even if the change in his pocket only covered a fraction of the price, wouldn't it still be handed over? Gaucho's life was not nearly enough to cover those he had murdered, and yet it was all he had to offer. Surely he would understand?

A flare of light and the strong voice of Meg, his most loyal warrior caused his ears to flutter with the force of her words. I thought you protected us! These words resonated deeply within the Sultan - her Khal - wasn't he also meant to protect them? Hadn't he failed in that regard? It was only because of him that they were all here now, and any injury or disgrace that would come from the Gods would ultimately be on his shoulders.

Ophelia's voice was next to interrupt his dizzying thoughts. Her voice was warm - or perhaps he merely imagined in - but it seemed drenched in the light of the blast Meg had just caused. That so many would stand by him - in the face of everything that happened - was slowly beginning to work its way into his thick skull. For so long they had fought with him - his herd had questioned his every decision - and he and Ophelia had come to blows, but physical and verbal, on multiple occasions. That they would now, in the face of the very creators of the lands upon which they lived, stand at his side in the face of the horrors he had unknowingly caused, was heart breaking.

The stallion was sure that he would die here and now, that his measly offering would be accepted if for no other reason than to assuage those gathered like Archibald who would hold him responsible, and this feeling of ... of loyalty would be wasted. He wanted to stand, to tell them all to go, but selfishly he was glad that he wasn't in a position to. He wouldn't admit it aloud, but their fidelity to him - in whatever way it manifested or whatever the cause - filled him with a warmth as bright as Meg's newly found magic. If he was to die, at least he could die with thoughts of their fealty coursing through his mind.

The hissing words of the Goddess caused Gaucho's breath to falter, assuming now that it would be she who was his executioner. Perhaps it would make up for what she had done, or perhaps since her hands were already plenty dirty, it made no difference if she killed one more. But through Mara's eyes he saw her vanish, and it was only then that Gaucho's stormy though useless stare dared to raise even slightly.

Rise, You have my forgiveness, Gaucho. I wish this had never happened to you.

The words were soft, meant only for his ears, and yet as they reverberated through his painted body he thought surely that all must have heard them, as well as the thumping of his heart. Gaucho's antlered crown lifted itself slightly more, as if waiting for his pardon to be taken back.

This is not the fault of Gaucho.

And there it was, for all to hear. The words so many had been thinking, now confirmed by He who had been hurt the most. The God of the Earth's forgiveness rolled over the Wildfire in waves, more cleansing and invigorating than he could have possibly imagined.

The God of the Sun said nothing specifically to the dun, but that was alright. If he had disagreed with his Brother's sentencing surely he would have said so. Still, Gaucho resented the feeling of being used by any of the Gods other than the Sun. It was only to the lord of light that he would allow himself to play the role of pawn, and he felt dirty and disappointed in himself that he had been helpless to stop it.

Rising fully, Gaucho's blind gaze was directed (with Mara's help) to those congregated around him: Cera, Meg, Amani, Ampere - then to Ophelia who had moved back to stand at her sister's side. He had no words for them now, for they had given him the only thing that mattered: loyalty.

There was nothing he wouldn't do to repay them.

Returning his gaze to the Gods, Gaucho's antlered crown lowered as his nose dipped towards his chest. The pain of what had happened had been lessened by the Gods' forgiveness, and yet it would weigh heavily upon him for years to come. That it wasn't his fault didn't change the fact that it had happened by his own hooves and horns.