As the rain fell, Tarrant’s ears twitched. He listened to the droplets splatter against the varying types of deep green vegetation which made up the Atlantis jungle and felt a few slip through the canopy and soak into his pelt. His white tail hung at his hindquarters, his breathing shallow and calm. While Atlantis was not facing any great snowmelt or sudden abundance of greenery to tell them spring had come, Tarrant knew the changes of this home better than most. He knew that winter was away from the islands, that the seas would rest and spindly-legged foals would soon be darting about their mothers.

For a moment his heart ached, thinking of children – of his children. Many faces flashed through his mind as if woven together in a collage. Some lingered more than others – those he had been fortunate enough to spend more time with (though as a rule he had always been close to his children when they were young, but he never held them from adventuring as they grew old). He thought of Wonka, potentially the foal who’d known him best, who had spent four years side by side with Tarrant until he’d found a herd elsewhere and Tarrant had other business to attend to.

Oh, how angry Wonka would be to know Tarrant had come here without him. That he had a territory on Atlantis – the home Wonka had always dreamed of. Already Tarrant could hear the exasperation in his son’s voice and he smiled a lonely smile. He missed them… He missed her.

His heart ached and he took a breath as if to stifle the prick into his heart. He blinked, green eyes dancing over the shadowed jungle. Spring. That’s right, Tarrant had to uphold a promise he’d made to Xina when he’d arrived here. Shaking his head he started forward, guiding himself around the trees and through ferns, ears pushing forward. It was a particular figure he was looking for – a young palomino stallion that would stay in Paradise as his second. Debonaire’s son. Debonaire, the stallion that Tarrant owed from long, long ago.

He came upon a young palomino and, though they had not met face to face yet, felt confident that this was the stallion he had been seeking. After exchanging breaths, Tarrant looked upon him with softness in his green eyes. “Conquistador. My name is Tarrant. Your father helped me long ago when I needed it most and I would like to pay it forward and extend the same to you. I spoke with Xina upon arriving here and she suggested you may wish to stay in Paradise as my second.” Tarrant was old, hardly interested in the traditional means of herd life (gathering mares, making children, the thing he’d done for years), maybe once Conquistador found his footing, Tarrant could turn leadership into Conquistador’s metaphorical hands completely.