The Goddess observes.

The children tried to break through their blindness, for a while.

Even if they had, they wouldn't have understood what they'd have seen. It was too alien, too unexpected.

But they did not. So they turned away, satisfied in their arrogant conclusion that the Knight had been destroyed, mere human that he was, and learned nothing.

The Goddess, though, watched. Macius' reactions pleased her. The lives he'd taken were, in a way, paid back. The protection of the fragile foal against the towering stallion, even better. She saw what the Children did not: Macius’ defiance bent into guardianship, his rage into [protection.

W](http://protection.as)ithin hours, the foal had stood and ran. Macius had then decided it was time to move back to the upper caverns, and ascend the long, long way to the outside world. It turned out to be astonishingly dangerous and difficult, without the feet and arms of a human... Yet they made it.

*****************************************

The cave ended in light.

The foal balked at it, legs stiff, eyes wide. It pressed against Macius’ flank, trembling. She lowered her head, nudged him forward, step by step, until stone gave way to grass.

He smelled the open sky again. Wind, wide and sharp, touched his mane. For a heartbeat he hoped—foolishly—that the curse might end here, that some unseen mercy waited beyond the veil.

The stallion followed close, not driving, not claiming. He moved where Macius led, heavy and sure, shadow at her shoulder.

Together they emerged, a small band—mare, foal, sire—into a world that would not care for hope, only for strength.