The sound of his voice should make her furious. The knowledge that he had left her to return to a group of stallions she still considered for the most part feral, should have made her furious. She should be holding tightly to the myriad of emotions that she had been feeling only moments ago. Yet somehow, the familiar, deep sound of his distant voice invoked a hope that had long since begun to grow dormant and stale.

Small, fluted ears lift amid the tangled web of her obsidian locks as the starlight mare lifts her muzzle from the water’s edge. The remnants of her drink splashed back to the turbulent surface. Silver-blue eyes scan the dense foliage around her but even now she thinks that the voice she heard was nothing more than a phantom in the mists. Paper-thin nostrils flare and then release again a heavy sigh as she turns her gaze back to the tumbling waters. Only when the thunder of hoofbeats and snapping of twigs and branches draw near, does she venture again to cast her gaze on the trail. Truthfully, she expected to see Tyr or Drogon appear from beneath the thick shadows of the jungle growth. They were the most common faces as of late, Oswin and even Faolain seemed to prefer the deeper portions of the green growth to grow and nurture their current and future offspring. This would be her first. Maybe it would have been wiser to seek out guidance from either mare but Rivka was not sure she was ready. Not yet.

”Peyote?” The name barely has a chance to leave her lips before the beast is upon her, his bright eyes wild with elation. He reaches for her like he had done that night, like he had done as a child, playfully tugging at a straying strand of her obsidian mane. ”Peyote.” she breathes, reaching forward to brush her own teacup muzzle into the strong curve of his shoulder. He smelled of the lagoon, an aching nightmare and soothingly familiar. He smelled of mud and mire and all the wild wet marshes that the lagoon stallions called home.

Home.

Like a blanket of cold water, the word gave life to the unborn bundle within her belly. Dark ears tilt backward as a new set of worries begins to gnaw at her innermost thoughts. Affectionately she tugs a single strand of his dark mane before drawing forward, away from the loud roar of the waters. ”I thought you were gone.” she murmurs, glancing around them cautiously as if Tyr or Drogon might manifest from the shadows at any moment and force the smoky stallion away. ”You forgot to say…” say what exactly? What did she expect him to say? Surely the feral-raised stallion had no intentions of leaving the Lagoon, just as she had little intention of leaving the Ridge and the good memories of Charby they held. Atlantis was her home. Her birthright. Rougaru had been a great warrior, a great king both loved and feared throughout the islands. Even still his name was spoken in cautious whispers. She had been raised a princess until he had vanished and Vanya shortly after. Atlantis has always been in her blood just as the lagoon was in his own. Sadness dances beneath the jovial mask she plants upon her small features. ”..You forgot to say goodbye… when you left.” she finishes, trying her best to ignore the guilt and despair that threatened to tug at her heart.