Larka is not sure when Zevulun first appeared, nor does she register the slow ebb of time as the hours tick again. All she can do is stare at the disintegrating mound of upturned dirt and watch as hopelessness and loss begins to eat away at her very essence. Darshan had been with her through everything. It might have been Shamwari that first opened the silverling mare to love but it was Darshan that had shown her how selfless and real that love could be. Darshan kept her moving when all Larka had wanted was to wither away in despair. Now it was Darshan who was gone and she alone the remaining survivors of what had once been Shamwari’s prairie.
”What will I do without you.” she breathes, shivering as the hot breath from her nostrils wraps around her ash dusted muzzle and once more reminds her of the chill of the coming winter. Deep in the throws of autumn, already the nights grew fiercely cold and no longer did she have her companion to tuck against to stay the worst of the night chill. ’I have nothing.’ The words hang in her throat as she gazed listlessly at the darkening soil.
Warmth. That is the first thing she notices. The warmth of Zevulun presses against her side, sheltering her slight frame from the worst of the chilly night breeze. Long lashes flutter as slowly the haze begins to evaporate like the unshed tears that cling to the corners of her eyes. Zevulun. The familiar scent of prairie sage and goldenrod that always accompanied his musk wraps her close. ”Zevulun…..” she whispers, his name drawing like a fervent prayer from her ashen lips. Before she can think, before even she is able to register a sentence to draw together he draws her close.
Surprise causes her to tense as he brushes his pink lips against her cheek. Desperate yearning leans into the touch though she is not sure if it is from a need for contact or comfort alone. Slowly the embers of her heart rekindle, stoked to life by the solid warmth of his body against hers. ”Zevulun… I…” the words hang in her throat as he draws her closer still, draping his muscular neck across her own and drawing her tight in a gentle embrace. Warmth floods her body, willing her to accept and welcome the action with open arms. Renewed tears gather in her eyes as she melts into his touch, leaning her pale form into his own and burying her ash dusted muzzle into his solid form. A choked sob resounds within her as she presses against him, hating herself for letting him see her in such a weakened state and yet needing it all the same.
No longer does she dare to speak, afraid that her words would ruin whatever this moment is. Her wet tears stain his skin, leaving wet patches in the wake of her distress. Time seems to stop, at least in her own mind anyway. At this moment, there is only Zevulun. Slowly the tears begin to recede and the loss of Darshan, though raw, begins to weigh less on her soul. Despite the ‘what ifs’ that plague her, she knows that there was nothing more than she could have done. Darshan gave her life for the pale little filly and with the same devotion Larka promised herself to do the same.
When finally she does raise her head to lift her eyes to his, darkness surrounds them, illuminating his handsome face with the ethereal silver blue glow of the full moon above. Admiration fills her eyes and something she cannot quite wrap her mind around. ”I’m sorry… I… I didn’t mean to…” the words scramble on her tongue even as she tries her best to get them out in the right order. The touch of his strong shoulder and the warmth permeating from his body is harder to resist and she cannot bring herself to be the first to break the contact between them entirely. ”What I mean is… thank you.” she whispers, reaching up to caress the curve of his cheek with her velveteen lips.