Romulus needed no further explanation than Darshan from the stallion who approached him on the fringes of Luthien. He tears after the other male, unsure of the emotions swirling within him, knowing only that they fuel a great need to be there.

He follows after the stallion, vaguely aware that this must be one of Zevulun’s sons, but as soon as he sees the pale patriarch himself—standing next to the frail form of Darshan—Romulus surpasses the other male. He doesn’t slow until he can see the lines of worry on Zevulun’s face, and then he hits the brakes, hard but not so hard that he flings dirt and grass onto the two. He doesn’t know Zevulun well, but he has no reason to dislike him, and anyway, the grullo is no fool as to disrespect another stallion in his own home, friendly or not.

He gallop comes to a rapid conclusion, and he takes a few more marching steps before coming to a halt a few feet away from the pale dun mare, blue eyes shifting between her and Zevulun. He has not spent too much time with Darshan; enough to know that she is pregnant with his child, but not enough to understand the exact nature of her relationship with the Prairie lead. He takes a moment to assess, and when he feels no immediate hostility from the other stallion, he pads closer to the Kathiawari mare. His white-splashed muzzle extends toward her, and he nickers softly against her cheek.

“Hey,” he murmurs, glancing over her while his heart thunders away from the run to get here. He forces his breathing to slow, certain she can hear the blood rushing in his ears, and unwilling to make her situation any worse with such noise. “Let’s lay down, yeah? No need to take a tumble tryin’ to stay up.” His words are teasing, but gentle, light. He makes no move to touch her, afraid that she might crumble if he does.

Romulus