The weeks that followed her prolonged visit to the Crossing Isle had been long and utterly uneasy. Aside from a very brief and abrupt acknowledgement of her return, Zevulun all but avoided her which left her completely confused and perhaps even a bit sad if she were to be completely honest. Before now, she had not realized how much she relied on the cream and white stallion as an anchor to the social interactions within the Prairie herd. When Shamwari ruled, she had never needed to take an active part in the ongoings of the herd. Always he and Darshan were at her side to enjoy the bright, warm sunlight and converse over the current events around the islands. Now that he was gone and Zevulun avoided her like the plague, she was beginning to feel… forgotten.

And so Larka went on merely existing. She followed the rest of the herd as they grazed over the knee deep prairie grasses and watched with half-hearted interest as first Cassiah and then Falkor began to slowly disappear more and more. She told herself it was time and that they were past the age when she first expected them to strike out in this world. However that did not mean that the loneliness did not continue to grow around her like a suffocatingly thick fog. Silently she watched from afar as Zevulun met with his family and dismay filled her as she trailed in his wake to the beach shore where she had once curled herself tightly into Shamwari’s embrace. The sight of his retreating form left her with a longing that she could not quite name and despite herself she choked back the sob that threatened to burst from her lips. Was he leaving too?

For several days she found herself wandering down to the shore in the early morning light and watching with hollow eyes as the sun broke over the rolling seas but not the bobbing head of Zevulun returning to them. to her. Three days she tottered back and forth onto the pale sand beaches only to be met with disappointment. On the fourth day she rose early, shivering in the weak blue dawn. Winter had set in on Luthien finally and the low gray clouds from the night before had left the Prairie dusted with the first blankets of snow. Struggling to her hooves beneath the added weight of her swelling belly, Larka gives her silver white skin a quick shake, dislodging the dusting of snow that blanketed her back. Once again, she slowly meandered towards the beach, no longer feeling any urgency or hope. She was bound for disappointment.

However even before she tops the last dune that led to the flat expanse of beach, she knows something is different. Paper thin nostrils flare as she pushes past a stand of sea oats and sees for the first time in what felt like years, Zevulun return. Delight sparkled her eyes and she lifts her muzzle to nicker a friendly greeting in hopes of finally bringing their prolonged silence to an end. Yet the very sight of him, weary and downtrodden silences her voice before it even leaves her lips. Silver blue eyes watch him from the safety of her hiding place as he walks slowly from the frigid surf with his head bent and body sagging as though the weight of the world lay on his shoulders. He does not bother to try and shake the water from his skin though no doubt he must be freezing, instead he moves with sullen steps farther away from where she had left the herd sleeping and towards the stand of tall birch trees that bordered their lands with that of the forest.

Concerned, she follows him. The pendulum swing of her belly prevents her from rushing to catch up to him and the cold morning and aching joints cause her own steps to be short and stiff but nonetheless, she follows the trail left by his fresh prints in the dusted snow. For a moment, she imagines she has lost him, or that perhaps like so many times before, he had been a mere ghost of her past come to haunt her in the early morning. Anxiety grips her heart as she cranes her neck to the left and right and almost misses him if it had not been for the rustle of disturbed grass.

Relief sweeps over her as she spies him, nearly blended into the landscape surrounding him. He lay curled into a tight ball on the frozen ground with his chin resting against the earth. For a moment, she thought he might be asleep, weary from his days of travel away from the Prairie. However the shuddering rise and fall of his chest concerns her and even with the prolonged silence between them, she finds her hooves moving even before she had made up her mind. Softly she croons a gentle call, much like the soothing voice she had so often used on her own children when nightmares stirred their dreams. ”Zevulun?...” she murmurs, dropping her small muzzle as she drew nearer. Pale eyes narrowed with concern. Dark lips press together as she tilts her head, long obsidian locks cascading in thick rivulets down her neck to frame her delicate face. ”...c…can I join you?” she asks with a timid voice.