Phae begins to talk, her gaze determined, and I am suddenly extraordinarily grateful for her friendship. I have always known that I am lucky to call her my friend, but it is times like these that the term is tested. I find myself with friends in all kinds of places, and none of them are more suited for this particular predicament than Phae. And she had shown up just at the right time. Her suggestion, though, to simply let others think it to be Note's child makes me cringe. I am, perhaps, many things, some of them not so good after this strange triangle that I have found myself in, but I am not a liar. What if someone should ask me of Note? What am I supposed to say then? And is Phae right? Is it really Note's fault? No, that cannot be true - I am the one that sought comfort in another, not him. I am the one that betrayed our family. But so did he, a small voice adds in the back of my mind. He left you. He did that.

But if that is the case, then why do I feel so guilty? I listen to Phaedra's words with a small frown on my maw, though my tears have temporarily dried. They have left streaks down my face, small white lines in my now-customary coating of dust. She pauses, and I raise my gaze to meet hers, searching her curious eyes for answers. And then she asks if I would rather be with Gaucho. If it were possible, I would blush; instead, I lower my gaze quickly to hide my confusion and dismay. Do I want to be with him? Do I wish I had chosen differently in my mate? And the bigger question: does he want me? He wasn't exactly a big talker, didn't seem like the type to make a lifelong commitment, and isn't that what I want? "Gaucho," I whisper. And then, louder: "His name is Gaucho."

I suppose it is only right that I seek him out, that I tell him that I am carrying his foal. What will his reaction be? I cannot imagine that he will be overjoyed, but neither do I think he will be unhappy. I am reminded again how little I know of him as I try to imagine his reaction. "He doesn't know," I tell Phae, as though somehow this minute detail is important. It avoids the real question, which is of my feelings for him. Although I would like very much to ignore this particular inquiry, I know that I must give her some semblance of a reply. I trust her, I love her, and she is my friend - she deserves something other than silence. "I don't know how I feel about him," I sigh. "He was there when I needed comfort, but I don't know him. Not like I did Note. And I don't know how he feels about me. If he even remembers..." I shake my head with dismay. Too many questions, too much that I cannot answer. What am I supposed to do?

"talk talk talk"

Live... I want to live on fire
Die... I want to burn out brighter
Brighter than the northern lights
Want to live to feel the daylight