As of lately, Crowley had turned a blind eye to those foolish enough to tread upon Basin grounds when they most certainly did not belong. It wasn't that he had lost confidence in his abilities to fend for his home and chase any trespassers away, but it was growing mundane, a daily task that took precious time away from more important things in the Weaver's life.

Like Rhiannon.

The little filly was a near perfect image of his and the Corporal's mixed genes; she was black as night with a silver sheen, and ivory brindling than ran up and down her torso and neck. Her eyes were mismatched, one resembling the same yellow that were Crowley's eyes, and the other, silver like her mother. Learning to be a father was more difficult than he could have previously thought; Rhiannon was no push over, and was a rather difficult child in the stallion's mind. He supposed his daughter was a lot like her father; stubborn. Crowley was always on high alert any time the filly was doing something other than sleeping, and although Crowley would never admit it out loud, he was always worrying over her welfare.

Thankfully, the filly was curled up in the safety of the Weaver's favored cave, obviously exhausted from a day of play. Talbot, too, had joined her, for the pup had been quick to adopt Rhiannon as a best friend and playmate. He would surely come to protect her in the following years. For now, Crowley was left with time that was all his own, and idly, he breathed a breath of relief as he crept away from the mouth of the cave to grant his mind a break from babysitting. Crowley the babysitter... Who would have thought.

Looking out across the Basin, one might have forgotten that Frostfall would soon be upon them. While situated in the heart of the Steppe, the Basin would never reach the dangerously freezing temperatures that swept across the rest of the snowy tundra, threatening to steal one's life away. Crowley had not been a part of the Plague when they and the ex-Edge members settled in the Steppe, and he was thankful for that.

With gentle exhale, Crowley expelled the thoughts from his head. Casting one more worrisome glance back to the caves, Crowley assured that Rhiannon hadn't ventured off behind his back, before turning and moving towards his favored grazing area near the ice-less lake. Alone for once, he relished the rare silence granted to him, but it was more often than not that he would lift his head to look back towards the cave where his child lay.

[Permission from Sparrow to state where/what Rhiannon is doing. ;D]

"blather blather blather"

You're busy dying if you're living in the past

For some time the Weaver stood alone, and much to his eternal joy, it seemed little Rhiannon was sound asleep in the stony cave situated into the mountainside in the distance. Sometimes he wondered just where the young filly gained her boundless amounts of energy, especially with how much she disliked sleeping in general. Only when Talbot was older and had gained a better sense of the world would he allow the pair to go off on their own, then maybe the brindle could finally rest his own feet for a while.

But in the absence of his daughter, something else was bound to capture the Weaver's attention. Cutting through the crisp air, a voice rang out, friendly and clearly feminine. Strangely enough, it almost sounded familiar, but he'd hardly befriended any of the ladies of the Basin. The realization surprised him, for he'd always enjoyed their company, but now, he was simply too busy rearing a child and helping to nurse the Plague to its full potential.

Lifting his head and turning towards his sudden company, Crowley was about to speak his own greeting, but the beginnings of his 'hello' faded off almost as soon as it had left his lips. For a moment he could simply look the mare over, for he could have sworn that he'd lain eyes on her before. There was a time, several seasons ago that he had, and it had been during the Basin's first herd meeting as well as in passing.

Try as he may to come up with a name to the face, Crowley had nothing for several moments. But as he wrapped his mind tighter and tighter around the mare's appearance and the single word spoken from her, realization began to dawn on him. Uncharacteristically, the Weaver's golden gaze grew wider and finally, he took a single step closer, as if uncertain of what he was about to say.

"Kou...?" He spoke at last, voice low and careful as if everything hinged upon the answer, "Is that you?"

You're busy dying if you're living in the past

Even as the mare regarded him with her own uncertainty, Crowley couldn't pull the awestruck expression from his face. It wasn't a look that normally wound it's way onto his features, but somehow, this pale, almost ghostly figure of a mare had managed to simply show up and send him into a stupor. Was he finally going crazy? Was the endless white of the snow getting to him?

With a mental shake of his head, he forced himself to focus and locked his golden eyes upon the mare's blue ones. That icy gaze was foreign to him, yet so familiar. Could it really be the same filly he'd sworn to watch over all those years ago, when he'd been but a bachelor in Etaine? Although it had only been roughly four years since his departure, or escape more or less, it had seemed like a lifetime ago that he had called Etaine home. Surely if this was her, they would not have fled to the very same land, in the very same mountain range...

However, much to his surprise, she claimed that her name was, indeed, Kou. Crowley knew without a doubt that this wasn't his mind playing tricks and making names up on the fly. More names flew into his mind in a rush; Rigo. Marionette. It nearly pained him as all these memories suddenly whirl-winded into his mind all at once, memories that he'd long since suppressed and figured better left forgotten.

Remembering himself, the Weaver drew in a deep breath and momentarily averted his gaze from the young mare. Could this really be Kou? If it was, would she even remember him? She had been young when they had first met, and separated shortly after that. There was much more in between, of course, but Crowley was doing his best to keep his mind on the here and now of things rather than the past. Surely he wouldn't need to elaborate too much if this was truly her.

"... My name is Crowley," he finally spoke up, shifting his piercing gaze back onto the alabaster mare, "I believe I was friends with your father. But if I am mistaking you for somebody else, please forgive me."

You're busy dying if you're living in the past

In almost an instant, the mare's demeanor changed completely, and for worse. Had Crowley not had the revelation that he might have known the alabaster mare from times past, he would have slipped back into his normal irritable self and grown snappish. But surprisingly, the brindle was able to keep himself calm, simply standing before her as she spoke. His eyes, usually bitter and cold, were uncharacteristically warm and understanding.

Rigo had been his name, and Crowley remembered the elder stallion clearly. Many a fond memories had been formed between the two during the brindle's younger years, even if that time hadn't been terribly long. In Etaine, unlike Helovia, life was difficult for those those who displayed proudly a horn upon their brow. The equine division of the land looked upon them with extreme scrutiny, for unicorns were believed to be more magical beings than any other. Any form of magic was forbidden throughout the land, and should it be found that one did wield such powers, then they were hunted down and killed.

But Rigo did not possess magic, nor did his golden lady Marionette. Their young, pale daughter on the other hand, was a different story. Crowley himself wasn't entirely sure of the details of how the filly's magic had been found out, nor how long from then it had taken for the equines to begin their hunt on the family. But what he did remember was the pale figure of Rigo in the night, his body alight with fire, cut down in the prime of his life by the ugly hornless within the herd.

Something changed in the Weaver's eyes for a moment, barely noticeable, but there. Memories best left forgotten and supressed threatened to resurface, but he would not allow it in the presence of the very daughter he'd once sworn to find, to protect; and failed. With a gentle exhale of breath, the look faded away with the imagery of Rigo's burning body, and Crowley fixated his gaze upon Kou's piercing, icy gaze. As a resident of Etaine himself, he could only imagine just why she was stepping back from him and threatening him. But he wasn't here for revenge.

"... I am aware of his passing," he spoke up, his voice surprisingly gentle, "And you have my most sincere sympathies. He was a great fellow, as was your mother. I enjoyed their friendship." Just as soon as the word had passed his lips, Crowley wondered if he'd messed up yet again. Would Kou grow even more defensive at the mention of her mother? Or would she see that he truly meant no harm now?

"I'm sorry, Kou, I... My intentions weren't to upset you. I just can't believe that it's actually you. Do you truly not remember me?

You're busy dying if you're living in the past

If Kou found that she could not forgive him for the things he did and didn't do, then so be it. It had been up to him, after all, to find and protect her after the Witch Hunters had struck her family, yet he had failed. Oh, he had looked, that was no lie... But never had he been successful in tracking her down. As the months went on after the attack on Rigo, Crowley had begun to think her dead, and it was only after an entire year had gone by did he end his search. If she was not dead, she could have gone anywhere, hundreds of miles away for all that he knew. It had broken his then-good heart, but he had abandoned all hope on ever finding her many years ago.

She spoke, and her words seemed to draw him out of his silent reverie before all too suddenly throwing him back into one. When Rigo had been struck down, Crowley had not been with him, only glimpsing the heinous scene as the flames began. The brindle knew all too painfully that he could not help his friend at that point, and had watched in cover with white-rimmed eyes as the Hunters chanted around the pale stallion. In those moments spent watching his friend burn, Crowley's hatred for any without a horn was born, and it was to Rigo he swore vengeance.

Meeting the blue eyes of the mare standing before him, he breathed a gentle sigh, ridding himself of the nerves that had slowly begun to build up beneath his skin. It was both a blessing and a curse to hear the anger fade from Kou's voice and fade to sadness, and he fervently wished to place her back into the light, airy mood she had been in minutes ago. Would she shun him for having done nothing, or would she understand that there was truly nothing he could have done?

"I couldn't," he answered at last, holding his golden gaze upon that of Kou's, "By the time I found him, it was far too late. After that, I ran, and it was you that I looked for, to try and repay the help that I could not give to your Father." Another sigh passed the Weaver's lips, and he listened quietly as nurse spoke again. There were a lot of things he wanted, wished for, longed to see... But above all else, there was only one things he truly wanted before the end of his days.

"... I want revenge. To watch equines fall to their knees like they've watched so many of us do."