He stilled at the approach of the mare and observed with curiosity as she approached. Gone was the energetic way he held his body with tail flagged and head raised high – Tarrant stood still with the ends of his tail brushing the jungle floor and his shoulders hunched, head held at a more comfortable level. He did not speak as she approached and instead allowed her to take the conversation first. It was not the time or place to tell her he’d never intended to come back here or stay so Tarrant said nothing at all. Nothing until the mare mentioned Debonaire.

Debonaire was a name he recognized. Tarrant remembered the day he’d sobbed his woes after the fall of Cimarron and how Debonaire had been kind enough to take him in. Even that had been short lived. He’d known who he had needed and Tarrant had left on the high wind, racing to find her.

Yet now it seemed he could help Debonaire in some way just as Debonaire had once helped him. Or at least the way it was worded, Tarrant felt this was his time to pay up his debt. “What’s happened with his son?” He asked, carefully. Was Debonaire’s son in danger? “I owe Debonaire a debt,” Tarrant reflected his previous thoughts aloud; “he did more for me than I think I ever was able to thank him.”