Tarrant let his eyes leave Pulse for a moment, finding his son standing quietly beside him. Since Wonka had first wiggled on the ground, fuzzy coat slick with afterbirth, Tarrant had been there. Once he was weaned and Adelaïda had to leave, Tarrant had been there. They had been side by side, Wonka knew his father’s greatest weaknesses and his father’s greatest strengths but Tarrant couldn’t say the same about his son. Wonka was still growing, still maturing, still finding his hooves on the ground and developing into the stallion would be. A part of Tarrant wanted Wonka to be him, to be a carbon copy of his father but another part did not. It was the part that lurked and knew he was wrong, that he was always wrong and he wasn’t the proper model for a child to shape themselves after.

Tarrant smiled, pushing all the thoughts from the corners of his mind where they lingered, and shifted his weight to bump his son. Wonka turned his ears and lifted his head, eyes finding his father’s. “Go on son, you’ve got a territory to patrol.” His smile grew as Wonka smiled in turn and looked back toward their surprise company. “Yeah,” he said toward her, “we can meet up later.” Was it rejection? Was it a cold shouldered way from their company? Maybe, but Wonka didn’t care if it was. If his father had felt it was done with negative regards he would have said something, would have told Wonka to stay. They’d been together for every day, for two years. Wonka knew his father better than any of Tarrant’s children ever could.

He never could have guessed that Tarrant still had his secrets, however.

Tarrant looked back toward Pulse as she smiled and he smiled too. Wonka gave a small nod of his head, turning and moving into a bouncing trot back down the beachhead. “So, you’ve come to the tundra island,” Tarrant started while turning his body so he could walk beside her, “any idea where you’d like to start?”