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The blonde nodded shortly, and rubbed one red thumb across his arm. It brushed against the bare skin left by deep scarring, but he was used to this feeling now and had no emotions in regards to the wound. Alaine’s son was dead; he had no reason to hold onto something that was long since passed. It was only the dreams, and the ghost, that lingered—and he had disconnected them from cause and only identified them with the collie who had stolen his father away.
“You can,” he repeated. “Do you want to go? We can talk where it’s warm—you look hungry, too. If you want, I can carry you back; we can ride my horse and yours can follow us. He seems to like Oblak enough, eh?” The blonde man smiled at the display from the colt, and Oblak’s well-tempered whinny. She was amused by his antics, and certainly ready for another boy to take care of. While carrying herself, she was a brood mare used to taking care of foals not her own; Ezekiel had made out despite the overpayment he had given Sirius for the long-haired mare.
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