The water pump huffed and chuffed with life as Felicia turned it on. The corn and wheat were coming along nicely this year, she noted. Once the harvest was complete, she'd have to make another visit into town. The mill was usually more than happy to buy her product, but they couldn't afford to bring it into town.

The past day and a half had been full of joy for her. Bright sunlight and cloudless skies had blessed her farm, something she hadn't counted on this late in the year in this part of the country.

Now the sun was on its decline for the day, and she couldn't be happier. Horus's stories of his family had been just as he'd said: a combination of misery and joy. Hearing about Sanguinius had been quite enjoyable. He sounded much like his brother Vulkan, albeit with a bit more of a violently protective streak.

Konrad's story had been terrible to hear. The poor boy had been isolated on a cruel hive world; sprawling planets made of nothing but city. The more she listened to the horrible fate that had befallen him, the more she wanted to just reach through time and give the man a hug.

Fulgrim…hoo boy had that been a story. Bringing a world out of industrial failure into a shining gem of progress and development.

The best part of every story he told, was that he told it through a physical medium. While he would tell her of his brothers' pasts, he would make something to represent them. Every time he did, he would always claim it to be a 'pale imitation of their skills' or some such tripe.

For Sanguinius, he had woven a statue out of grass. If the primarch cut even half the figure his grass replica did, he must've been a sight to behold. Konrad was shown by a mosaic in the dirt, as changing and fluid as the future he never understood. The sight had been…sad.

Angron…she wasn't really sure what to think about him. On the one hand, his story had been one of so much death. On the other, Horus had masterfully shown how none of it was his own fault. A victim from start to finish.

By now, the only story she didn't know was Horus's. In the month and change he'd been here, he had told her very little about himself. Something she forced herself to be okay with. All she knew at this point was that he was the commander of all his brothers.

The man himself was no less than ten feet away from her, still free of his armor and digging a hole. Despite his proclaiming its comfort, he apparently had no issue with leaving it off after she asked him to. Was it a bit selfishly motivated? Perhaps. But he seemed happier to be rid of it, especially after she had him help her stash it in a corner of the barn.

"The plants look almost ready for harvest." Horus observed as he looked out over the field. "The small insects buzz about with great anticipation. Like they know the harvest is coming." Leave it to the resident Primarch to notice that.

"You'd be right." She placed her arms against her hips, looking right into the thick of the plants. "They've pretty much got a routine now, since I've been here long enough." Horus hummed, but otherwise didn't reply. "Five years, by the way."

"Truly? You have accomplished much in such little time." Horus finished digging out a small hole, his hands easily manipulating the almost-too-small shovel. "Though you have not grown up here. What brought you to the frontier?" Felicia snorted as she grabbed a nearby wheelbarrow, full of bait for small pests.

As she'd walked through the fields, she'd noticed that quite a few plants had been eaten by rats and other such things. They'd spent much of the day putting out toxic bait to kill them.

"We're hardly on a 'frontier' out here. This is the middle of the United States. Nebraska isn't exactly untamed wilds."

"Perhaps not. I know precious little about the geography of these states, let alone their political borders. There is little enough civilization here that I was admittedly convinced the world was somehow entirely unsettled." A little lie to pur her at ease. One that he felt comfortable performing considering that he didn't want to share the horrors of the Warp with her.

"Yeah, well, we're just in boring farm country. Nothing special. Certainly not as cool as whatever your definition of a frontier is." Hm. Truly a statement he'd never hear in the thirtieth millennium.

"I do not think the frontier of a galactic war of reclamation would be considered 'cool' Felicia."

"Reclamation?" her inflection tightened. "Like…a Crusade?" Horus blinked.

"In…a manner of speaking, I suppose. The time I come from is one much more hostile than this one. Xenos claw at the edges of mankind, harvesting their children for resources. Men are kidnapped and turned into gene-slaves. Women and children ground up for food."

Humanity visited its own fair share of atrocities on those very Xenos, though. His…particular point of view on the Crusade helped him to see the atrocities that'd been inflicted on innocent species. Species that could've easily been inducted as client nations.

The Emperor's plan had been a flawed one at best.

"I will be honest with you," he continued. "Humanity was hardly without fault during those days. I spent enough time in service of the Emperor of Mankind performing those horrors to know I am as culpable as any." He'd told Felicia of the heroism of his brothers only days before, but it was time he told her just as much of their sins. Including his own.

"Horus…" she whispered. "You don't…you don't have to tell me."

"I do. My sins must be known. From there, you may decide my fate." He wouldn't share the horrors of the warp. But he could share the truth of his past. "May I show you? It is the only way I can show you the unmitigated truth." Felicia took a deep breath.

"Sure. If it'll make you feel better about yourself. But to be honest, I don't think I care much about your past."

"You will."

Gently, he reached out to her mind with his, and pulled her into a vision of memories.