Now too many things happen at once. The prince lies paralyzed by the hard hammer of truth, his thoughts struggling to twist around what he, a moment ago, perceived and what now must be real. He is here, whole, healthy and so utterly alone he fears he will at any moment fall through the ground and wake up. But the world, insistent as ever, hurls truth at him until he must accept it. The newest truth is the sound of hooves almost directly overhead. The broad, spotted head twists haphazardly to track them, but too late.

A pair of dark eyes peers down at him. A recently-familiar prickle of shame crawls down into the prince's gut. The freckled face displays only polite confusion, though, as it gives up on following the lightning-fast flow of emotion behind his eyes. "Ah..." he responds a little weakly to the apology. How had he not noticed himself about to be trampled? Something about cavorting through sunlight, maybe. Sobriety creeps back into his manner as he watches the stranger back up, blessedly offering some personal space. It's into that space the spotted body now flings itself upright, flinging off bits of grass and flower petals like a sheepish child. The urge to shake himself free of debris is almost overpowering, but afraid of flinging the detritus in the stranger's face, the prince desists. He guesses the stranger is real, after all, as the forest is real, and the gnawing emptiness in his belly is — definitely real.

He reaches tentatively into memory, but pulls back, his dark eyes swimming around the clearing instead. They settle on the small deer standing nearby, traveling up the many tines crowning the stags' head. "Not to worry," the prince hears his own voice saying. Belatedly, he forces his attention back to the — Ashamin. "I'm unharmed." In a manner of speaking, he can't help but think. A worried crease edges into his gaze, though it disappears when yet another stranger appears from between the trees.

The prince is glad to see he's still well-liked.

"Hello!" he calls. At the same time, he tries not to stare, but he's pretty sure that mare has wings attached to her sides. And now fancy battles with wonder as he tries to decide whether or not she's a god and whether or not he ought to be kneeling. She greets Ashamin like a friend, and that adds another, further layer of complication to all of this. The prince is cast far out of his depth. "I'll never turn down company," he tells her honestly enough, for the thought of being abandoned by his new companions is far more terrible than the thought of what either of them may perceive of his manners, or his sensibility.

Recalling what Ashamin said a moment ago, he nods in the stallion's direction, trying not to focus too hard on the strange mound of - rock? - running down the stallion's face. "If 'Helovia' is the name of this forest, then yes, I am." Now, the prince realizes he may be trespassing, and he takes a single, somewhat apologetic, step back, his head lowering just a bit. "Do you live here?" he asks all three of them, for though Rakt has yet to speak, the buck watches him with clear intelligence.