Larka half expected him to shoo her away. Considering the unease with which they had been interacting over the past few months, she could not exactly blame him. Why would he want her around anyway? However, seeing him in this vulnerable state, Larka could not bring herself to just leave him like this. Even if he were to scream and yell at her, she would not leave until he at least rose to his feet and had a drink or two of water.

And yet, as she steeled herself for his dismissal, he surprised her by instead shifting his weight so that she would have room to settle onto the leaf strewn ground beside him. Silenced by the invitation, Larka shuffles carefully closer and tentatively folds her dark legs beneath her until her baby-swollen frame is as close to the pale stallion as she can manage. She hopes that the warmth of her back pressed against his own might offer comfort, even when her words momentarily lapse on her tongue.

For a moment, there is only silence between them. Invisible zephyrs finger the dry leaves from the white birch trees, causing the dead branches to rattle and shake a symphony that very few took the time to listen to. Through the thick stillness, Zevulun speaks. Raven tipped ears flicker atop her finely dished head as Larka turns towards to gaze at him. There is a weight on his shoulders that appeared to be so much more than mere apologies between friends. A dismissive smile curves her ash dusted labrums upward as Larka shakes her head. There had never been any need to apologize. Larka merely missed the companionship she found with the pale lead. Despite the years with Shamwari and everything that the changing seasons had to offer the Prairie herd, Larka could not deny that she found herself longing for the comfort of Zev’s steady presence. He had seen her at her weakest point, seen her when Balor’s death brought her to her knees and yet he remained. Why should she not also offer the same kindness? The same compassion? Yet before she can even manage to utter a word in his defense, Zevulun begins to speak once more.

For the first time in as long as she has known him, the pale stallion bares his soul to her. Tentatively she listens in silence as he begins to speak of his past and the struggles that tormented him. Sorrow glistens in her silver blue eyes as he speaks about losing both his mother and father. Though her childhood had been a happy one, she knew what it felt like as a mother to have a child ripped away from her. Liland saw to that and regardless of the wisdom Shamwari had offered the brash Fjord stallion, never once did he relent and instead forced Bran and his other offspring to live without their mothers. It was something she would never forget.

He continues his story. Fluted ears twitch as he mentions his father being alive, surprise replacing the sorrow that had moments ago reflected in her crystal gaze. Her heart clenched at the thought of how a young Zevulun must have felt to not only find out his father had been alive but to see him for the first time in years so grotesquely disfigured. He continues to speak of his sister’s attack and the death of his sire at the hands of his own sister. The weight of his conviction causes her to press herself even closer, seeking to comfort him even if she did not know the right words to use. He tells of his desire to return to the islands and of his confrontation with his sister. The picture he paints is both realistic and heartbreaking even for the pale woman. It has been years since she has seen her last fight and though she had no siblings to struggle against, she remembers all too well the verbal onslaught that she had endured from Liland and could only imagine how blood ties might amplify those feelings. Pale ears fold backwards in sadness as he speaks of losing control of his mind and body and how he fell victim to that rage that had once burned fiercely through his own sister. It was hard to believe. The kind, pale stallion had always been level headed and gentle even in the most unusual of situations, but Zevulun has never lied to her and she did not believe he would start now just to gain her pity.

He pauses now and Larka finds herself turning her head to look at him, knowing full well that this could not be the end of his tale. Crystalline tears carve their way down the sharp contours of his cheek. Tentatively, she stretches her own ashen velveteen forward to lightly trace the lines into his skin, hoping that her touch might somehow erase the paths that they created both physically and mentally. He finishes his story now by explaining his discovery of both his sisters once more on the islands. That explained why he had left so suddenly and without a word to her or the herd. (Not that they had really been on the best of talking terms as of late anyway). He had gone to see them.

She can feel the weight hanging on his words as he relived the precious few moments and what he believed to be his own cowardice. A sympathetic smile ghosts across her lips as she reaches forward to brush aside a strand of his creamy white forelock. ”No one could ever think you a coward Zevulun.” she begins, blinking back the sudden urge to let her lips linger against his skin. ”What you went through…. It would be more than most others could even begin to bear.” she murmurs, pausing for a moment to temper her words before beginning again. ”Time heals all wounds. It never repairs the same but in a way, the threads tangle themselves together tight enough that they are oftentimes even stronger than before.” she breathes. Silver blue eyes glitter as she blinks up into his green blue gaze, hoping to relay the faith in him she has. ”One day does not have to be today or tomorrow. Just… one day.” she finishes smiling gently.