“Yes,” Mariael replied firmly, decisively, but not rudely. Tinuvel was her island by right – enough years had passed she felt she earned the ability to take on command for this entire island. She would be able to help those of the Inlet find the best places in their land to survive the hard winters. She would be able to make certain Tinuvel strived and stayed strong against any other island. Though, to tell truth, most islands these days seemed to keep to themselves and allies were peppered among them.
Zevulun’s eyes caught on the mare again – she was beautiful, older, and hearing she was once queen in the Inlet only enticed him more. Of course it was then he remembered, and his eyes jolted back to the boy – Baldr – looking for any noticeable characteristics. But the deep red of his coat showed no soft cream or rich golds, of which Zevulun knew from experience his children would express. He exhaled softly and cleared his throat, hoping his quiet discovery hadn’t been during a pause or lull in their conversation.
Mariael shot him a side-eye, but it was like what she often did any time his eyes turned toward a mare. Good… she didn’t know.
“It’s good to meet someone of Tinuvel,” Mariael said honestly, gentling immediately toward the mare – any who’d lived and survived this island earned their respect in her eyes. The name Soljor rang a bell for Mariael, but not for Zevulun.
“Soljor was my grandfather,” Mariael said, “my mother’s father. Hollowshank was my mother.” She trailed off for a moment, uncertain if Freya had known Hollowshank – speaking of her, having no closure as to where she ever went… her mental instability… Mariael shook her head as if to physically dispel the thoughts. “I never did meet him. My father arrived shortly after Soljor had disappeared from the Bay, only my mother and another of his mares – Fly – remained.”
Zevulun’s eyes were drawn to Baldr as Mariael told Freya what she knew of the Bay’s history. He grinned, watching the colt play.
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