For a time Anaan is lost in the way that she leans. Perhaps because he knows this is a sensation he should not be allowed to have: this is a sensation belonging strictly to the living. And in Knox's body, shifted as it may be, he is not sure if he is truly alive.

And when she leads, the protector does not hesitate to follow. He keeps close to her, sensing her hesitation when she pulls away and not wanting to prolong the moment of separation. His hooves fall, heavy and solemn--head is bent low in a gesture of respect. She is strong. He watches the sinews of her muscles with dark eyes, noting the rippling beneath her smooth dark coat--so different from his scarred, greying one.

What is she thinking? he asks, as if somehow some ancestor could know. But of all of them he is the only one who has ever cared for a mare with any truth, even if she did not love him with the same. He will not let his heart break from her, now. He has let it break too many times. Now, when it hardly even beats, he will not waste such moments on her memory.

But she gave him two sons, and one who beget another. In a roundabout way, she brought him here.
Nothing important, Knox lashes out. He is stinging from wounds, from the hurt of being forced to feel for his ancestor's sake. Nothing she says will matter to you.

Anaan does not wish to engage. He shakes his head softly, letting it hand before his legs, bumping his knees as he meanders beside the mare. Let Knox be in the wrong again. His grandson will learn, in time, that the heart must be left to its own devices.

At last, he speaks. Perhaps it will quiet the cold one who guides and grips this breast on warmer days. "I missed you," he said quietly, as if they had known each other for long enough for him to miss her. Manhattan trails behind them both, hanging back in their shadow, claws clicking and echoing in the cave hall. "I have found myself thinking back to our time in the falls with fondness. I haven't found such good company as the pair of you in all my time in Helovia," Anaan echoed. He searched for a hint of the colt with the dappled neck, older than him now, but no wiser.

Have you ever found good company, Knox? The protector asks, stepping unwittingly into flames.
Certainly never in you, he replies, his voice dripping with the lie, his heart aching for memories of Aylin, gone now from his life--banished by his own failures.

The truth, the grandfather pleads, as if he will learn something from a younger one's mistake. He watches Essetia as he speaks but his absence is visible--the drifting of his focus clear and uncontrollable.

I have lost it, Anaan, the hunter says as he looks back to his companion, eyes nearly shut, trapped in a state of exhaustion. And I fear it will never return.

[[WOW this sucks I'm so sorry I just lost all my muse and tried to rewrite this so many times. But I know it will return next time <3]]
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