Tarrant dreamt of his friend Therese that night. Of all his friends to dream of or to think of, Tarrant had never thought to see the silver-cream of Therese’s coat again or the gentility of her eyes. He had dreamed of the time they met, when she wandered into the Ravine and watched the sun set with him. He’d been young then, five or six, and not yet king of the island he’d just begun to inhabit.

”Oh! Want to play a game? Let’s see who can find the first star!” His voice, boisterous and excitable, echoed within his sleeping mind as though he’d heard it down a long, narrow tunnel.

”People wish on stars. Should we?” And her voice, sweet and so low it was nearly a whisper, it cradled him and enveloped his essence in a semblance of warmth.

When he awoke as dawn broke over the skies of Tinuvel and barely managed to poke through the grey clouds lazily moving across the sky, he was smiling. It was nice to remember friends he had nearly forgotten, especially ones so delicate and kind as Therese had been. He had never found the secret sorrows which plagued her and caused the happiness to leave her lips, but eventually he had seen her smile with more ease than she’d possessed before. She’d left before the collapse of Cimarron and for that, Tarrant was truly happy. That dark moment in his past had been ages ago, years even, and those that had died were long gone. He pushed it swiftly away, buried it with the denial of his father’s ultimate death as well.

Tarrant moved forward, walking inland to find where he could dig at early snow and find sprigs of nearly dead vegetation underneath. It wasn’t the breakfast of champions, but it was something to process and offer eventual energy. A few strips of bark and a twig or two later, the muscled stallion was gingerly sinking in to the soggy bank of the river and lowering his muzzle to take a long drag of its icy fresh current. Eventually it would freeze and only some places which were frequently exposed to sunlight would have thin enough ice that could be broken to achieve the waters beneath. They had not chosen the easiest of seasons to inhabit Tinuvel, but Tarrant had been born a thin and shivering young colt in these winds and grow to be the stallion he was today. A little cold weather would not turn him or his son away.

Steps, merely a yard or so away, distracted his thoughts and caused Tarrant to turn his head, ears pricking and eyes searching. The shape of a horse, just beyond the trees, caused him to frown but ultimately feel a touch of excitement. He rumbled a deep throated call before stepping forward to make out who his shadow-cloaked visitor was. Ariana came into his sights, the roan of her coat like frost had settled over her skin. He had not forgotten their coupling or how sweet she had been with Wonka and how much Wonka had adored her company. Tarrant smiled, snapping out his tail with energy and marching forward to meet her.

“Ariana!”

He cried her name happily, reaching out to meet his muzzle to hers and then rub it against her skin, deeply inhaling her scent.

“It is so good to see you again. What brings you to the Inlet?”

Oh Tarrant, all these years and you’re still so blind…