The gentle manner in which the Shaman accepted her apology gave Kahlua relief that no words could have. So she was not to be shunned for being frightened, she was not to be berated for running off. She was glad. I am always happy to help a friend in need. Kahlua bobbed her head. She was glad she had stumbled upon this mare, Onni, so many months ago. With so many in the land that had threatened (or had) hurt or attacked her, it was good to know there were kind souls left in the land.

Onni's kind greeting to the unwanted stallion did throw Kahlua for somewhat of a loop. It almost made her feel bad, though thoughts of her own safety were somewhat more prominent in her mind. Trying to process that Onni found this stallion's company agreeable was difficult for her. Between Onni's trust of the stallion and Midas' stiffening, however, Kahlua was having a hard time figuring out what to think. Midas has a kind heart, she insisted and Kahlua tried to catch Onni's gaze. She was searching for something, though even she did not know what. Regardless, her attention was quickly stolen by the stallion speaking and she looked away from her friend's eyes.

I am not who said those things to you, he insisted. Kahlua waned to believe him, wanted an answer, but too many times now she had been hurt by trusting the words of others. Ricochet had acted kindly enough, then attacked her for a stupid mistake she had. She had run into the invasion thinking it was a tournament of knights, only to find herself fighting to defend her homeland. And yet, hadn't good things come of trusting? She had found strength to trust Onni, despite her initial fear of the mare, and nothing but good had come of it. Kahlua sighed, the inward contemplations were too much for her brain. She could think of this no longer.

Taking another step toward Onni, Kahlua reached out her nose to try and touch the mare's neck. She needed the touch for comfort, if nothing else. “I... I'm not sure,” she murmured to the mare softly. Perhaps it was Onni's confidence in the stallion's gentle demeanor, perhaps it was that he had now been kind to her twice and rude to her only once, perhaps it was the earnestness in his insistence. Whatever the cause, Kahlua (though still scared) found some strength to speak to him again. “He wore your face. And your wings, and your eyes, and your armor.” She said, looking over him. “He was you,” but as she said the last line she wavered. Confusion filled her words. She was no longer certain if she meant that it had been Midas, or just a stallion that looked exactly like Midas.