Rafe is here. Rafe is here and she isn’t alone. It is all Riesling can think about - seeing Zevulun crest that hill, her brother at his side. The joy, the relief, the sheer weight of her past, of her new life crashing down around her shoulders. Riesling had resigned herself to never seeing any of her family again, left with only whatever excuse for a herd she could scrape together here, dragging Zevulun in the right direction with sharp words and keen observation. But now…now she has not only blood, but her brother.

Claret will be safe; Zevulun and the Prairie, too, as long as Riesling remains. And instead of hiding her away, the pale stallion had brought Rafe to her - welcomed a threat into the heart of his home, simply to reunite them. He must have known the risk, must have expected Riesling to take Claret and flee with her brother. He must have assumed he would never see the pair again. She’d wanted to, of course, but cautious words from Rafe held her back. Better to find allies for this Fell character, he’d advised. Better to have ties elsewhere, more friends beyond the desert island he lived on, disparate herds that he was slowly working to unite.

She’d agreed - Riesling had always known what was to become of her, and at least now, with a brother to work for, a goal to find and another herd to protect, everything made sense. Rafe’s parting words, advising her to keep Zevulun sweet and gain power here, thrummed incessantly through her mind. Riesling knew the advice is sound, must be followed and quickly. So seeking the pale stallion out during autumn was a given. Riesling knows how dearly he holds his children, knows that his grief over how Claret came to be still eats at him.

She doesn’t know if he understands, if Zevulun realizes that her coming to him was twofold - reward for reuniting her with Rafe, and another way to sink her claws in deeper, take another step towards vying for a position of power within his herd. Either way, this time she bears him a son. And as if the universe is punishing her for going into this with intentions beyond the desire for a child, the birth is….difficult.

Hours of pain, of blood, of screaming as she drifts in and out of consciousness and finally she has a strong colt, a near-clone of that first child she abandoned (and her heart aches at that, but Riesling does not let herself dwell). “Castillon,” she murmurs, even as Claret noses curiously over her small brother.

For those first few weeks, Riesling guards him jealously, held close and hidden in her own little patch of trees. No one crosses her - not even Zevulun approaches, though he must have smelled the blood and then the sweet milky scent of a new child. When Castillon is stronger, when she is recovered, they finally emerge from the trees. The trio makes toward the area most of the dwindling herd lingers, and Riesling stops there to graze, as much of an invitation to approach as any will ever get from her. If Zevulun wishes to meet the child she knows he will appear.