She tries not to smile as Castillon greets his father, slim form winding happily around the leggy, pale shape of his father. Zevulun has always been a good father, has always been the gentle touch that Riesling finds less natural. Her own father was….present, but hardly nurturing. Not supportive, the way Zevulun is. And to see him happily greet Claret before turning to Castillon settles something in her. She had a frisson of fear, when she gave birth to a son, that Zevulun would favor him over Claret, discard the young filly for their son.

When she speaks, his blue gaze snaps to her and the air goes tight between them, fraught with tension. Her honey-gold eyes narrow, and her ears half-pin in her inky black mane when Zevulun’s irritation shows. She’s about to remind him that she is no captive, that she remains here out of nothing but affection for her children and an odd, warped sense of duty to Balor. Rafe being here, though, the presence of her brother changes that. If Zevulun does not understand such matters, she will make him.

‘We’. It echos in her head, over and over again. “That wasn’t an invitation,” Riesling tells him sharply. Claret’s head lifts up at her tone, away from where she’d been grazing. She makes a soft, distressed noise at the beginning of a fight she knows too well, and Riesling subsides with an irritated snort.

She should have known Zevulun’s easy nature had limits - that he would not allow her and the children to make for Salem alone, and instead would insist on following. He’d claim something pathetically noble, of course - a desire to protect them, perhaps, or some excuse at her not getting lost. But she knows the truth of it - that even the most well-mannered stallion like Zevulun is the same. Possessive of their mares, guarding jealously their herds and controlling the movement.
It rankles, but Riesling resists the urge to lash out. To what end? Violence would do nothing save seal her fate - and she has not yet decided to leave the Prairie. For all she resents it sometimes, the cool meadows of Luthien have been her home for years since her arrival. Leaving would mean starting over. Even doing so at Rafe’s side, she is reluctant. So much time, so much energy invested here.

“Fine,” she relents, voice biting. “If you insist on following like a lost puppy, then I won’t stop you.”

Ooc note: i figure we can close here, and then depending on the outcome of the battle pick the thread up in the badlands?