For Tarrant, lost on the wind and just having blown accidentally into the islands almost a full season ago, Atlantis was his last chance at solace. The humid jungle and the sandy beaches of beautiful waters were his only chance at feeling at ease. For months upon months his worn hooves had scraped and plodded against the mainland’s turf. Miles upon miles he’d covered, veering near herds just to check for her, only to come away (or be driven away) even more hopeless than he’d been to start. They’d always found one another, always…

The stallion inhaled a sharp breath, thick neck turning as his green eyes observed the mare (whose name he still not know) become swallowed by the jungle shadows. Atlantis was not his to hoard. If any could benefit from what powers the island seemed to hold in its nature Tarrant would gladly welcome them.

He had been healed from grief once, eleven years ago. Maybe it would heal him once more.

Tarrant did not trouble himself over worry as to where the mare would go or whether she’d be fine. As she walked further into the heart of the jungle he turned the opposite way, walking and allowing the various plants to brush his white-splattered hide. The blue of the ocean came into view and he smiled a very small, very private smile.

She’d be happy to know he was here…