Tarrant’s ears twitched. “The Shore?” It seemed as if a flare of life took to burning in the green of his eyes, blinking as he focused more sharply on the buckskin he stood conversing with. “That was my home. I find myself lingering where the Paradise takes its borders these days.” Anyone could argue that all of Atlantis was the same, but Tarrant would only laugh them off. The Shore was recognizable to him and always would be. But still, Paradise and the common areas that made up where the herd often lingered were just as lovely – just as soothing to the tired soul. “I lived with Debonaire for a short while.” A very, very short while. “It was just after the fall of Cimarron – I was king when the island…” His head turned and his gaze lingered out toward the distant horizon, thinking of the day the earth had rumbled so loudly and Tarrant had exhausted his body and mind, running to make certain all the herds were leaving to the Crossing Isle.

“I never did make it to the Lagoon,” he fell back on Kasabian’s previous statement, “but I never had a problem with the bachelors like other stallions might have.” It had always been as if Tarrant knew they existed but strangely never crossed their path. Any fight he’d ever fought had been rouge, wandering stallions who wanted his home or other herd stallions who wanted a mare he’d sworn to protect. Tarrant wasn’t sure whether or not to consider himself ‘lucky’ that he’d never been on the bachelor’s hit list but he thought if guys like Kasabian had lived there they couldn’t be all bad.

He exhaled with a breath that could almost be a chuckle. “Strange to think how much time I’ve spent on these islands, how many I’ve met, how many I’ve lost… and there’s still a place or two I’ve never been.”