Knox chooses to stop only briefly at the surface of the caves, feeling that his mother and elder brother's graves deserve less regard than that of his father. But still, as he follows Manhattan's eager, quick and bobbing pace into the tunnels, he cannot help but feel a twinge of guilt and sadness for his youngest brother. Where is Darwin now? Has he turned completely white, reflecting his father in all manners but temperament? And how many times has he taken flight on fiery phoenix wings by now? How much more of the world has he seen from above that Knox never will? Is Darwin now someone different than Knox had ever known? It is likely, Knox thinks.

It has been a long time.

With his head low and a cloak of shadow hanging over his features, he follows Manhattan into the deep caverns. If not for the retriever at his side, Knox would not have found these caves. He is shocked to see a whole set of tunnels and caverns beneath the heat of the heart. How long have they been there? How much has changed in the time that he has been journeying?

Knox huffs, his breath floating oddly in the underground dark. His gaze catches on the quartz lining the walls; he glimpses brief moments of his reflection, the soft glow of his bridle creating patterns of refraction that only the cave is witness to.

Soft echoes arrive, flooding Knox's ears with the sounds of water's rush. Manhattan only cast a quick glance at her bonded master, reading his thoughts, before taking leave of him and rushing forth. Manhattan! Knox growls in his thoughts, fearing unexpected company might take advantage of her exposure.

There is nothing to do but follow her--and fast. Knox darts forward suddenly, his hooves pounding against the hard of the stone and creating faint, muffled echoes through the caverns. He grimaces at the soft sound made by each landing, hating the vulnerability. How is he to return on his own terms if Manhattan insists on exposing them like this? He can only hope they are alone.

But when Knox turns the corner and the tunnel opens into a larger space, he knows his discretion is lost. Manhattan bolts forth into the water, chasing after a glimmering creature coated in white that Knox, in his hastiness, cannot make out. He halts sharply at the opening, behind but not noticing the mare who watches over the small wolf, and starts to call Manhattan back before his mind is blocked.

Let her enjoy herself, Anaan murmurs into Knox's thoughts. The young stallion snorts and kicks beneath the cloak, knowing full well the wisdom in his grandfather's words and wanting to ignore them nonetheless. Let her have her youth this once, the protector added.

Struck with guilt, Knox cannot fight back. It is for her own good, he insists weakly as he watches her splash and paddle through the water, her forepaws playfully batting towards the white wolf and her jaws opening to playfully bite at the other companion's scruff. Knox notices, now, the badger faced mare by the shore. Will she hurt Manhattan? He stiffens, but Anaan soothes his very bones with a gentle offer to take over his form.

Knox obeys and his figure flutters, revealing the handsomely greying, blue roan figure of Anaan. Knox struggles still at the protector's suggestion that the cloak be nothing more than a defense mechanism; he insists that, at least for a time, it remain. But the shadow-mask he wears is only a false sense of security. It is Manhattan that Knox still fears for: Manhattan, swaying in the gentle waters she so loves. It has been a long time since he has let her relax in this way--a long time since either of them have had a moment to. Perhaps that is the charm of returning home.

Knox steps forward and into the water, making soft ripples and immersing the scarred forelegs of his grandfather in the cool chill of the pond's shore that dips closer to the entrance and arcs behind the mare.

It is good, the protector thinks to his descendant with a sigh of relief, to soothe such old and aching wounds.

And Knox, feeling the fresh pain of the burns on his grandsire's body, lets his cloak fall into ripples on the surface of the water. For the protector's sake, for the forgetting of old, waking memories of pain, he pulls himself deeper into the water and lets it wash over his scars--dips his face into the cool, and lets the comfort of these caves slip between the brown bridle and the young, handsome face beneath it.

It has been a long time, since he has felt such a salve as this.

—
[[Full permissions granted. Knox is currently in the form of Anaan, behind Essetia. Neither he nor Manhattan are cloaked.]]