Zevulun had only walked a few steps when an answering call cut through the ice chill in the air, warming him considerably. Just the thought of finding company so quick was something he could be grateful for. The pale stallion’s hooves ground into the hard-packed snow, crunching over it as he turned and began to walk the direction the call had come from.
Though the trees were stripped bare of their leaves, the density of the forest still blocked the full sight of the stranger he was rounding on. Zevulun made out a dark figure disrupted by streaks of white and felt his breath freeze briefly in his lungs. Was it… Sabriel? He had seen the sad-eyed, beautiful mare in the Prairie last, but it had been some years since then and he had always wondered… No, without the long pale-silver hair he knew it wasn’t her. The similarity in their coats had briefly shaken him, but Zevulun focused on studying the stranger.
She was a pretty mare, perhaps near his age, and her sides swelled with the promise of an upcoming foal. Stuck to her side was a young colt, likely just a little older than Castillon, Vernonia, and Frond. The sight of it, and no visible protector nearby, both worried Zevulun and made him soften sympathetically toward whatever might have left the mare alone in the winter with a young one by her side and one on the way. He lowered his head and stopped advancing, stretching his neck out and moving closer a little more slowly, not wanting to crowd her or her young son. Zevulun offered his pale pink nose to them both in turn when they allowed him to get close enough, sharing breaths, learning things about them before they’d even begun to have a conversation.
He tucked his chin back and pulled a step away, offering her a cushion of space to be comfortable while they talked. “You must be a very long way from home,” he said, the sympathy in his voice and the worry in his glacial blues, “I hope you haven’t had too hard of a journey to get here.” He could only imagine how difficult it must have been, especially if they really had come quite far from their home.
“I’m Zevulun,” he introduced himself with a soft nod of his head, “I lead the Prairie, it’s on an island called Luthien just northeast of here.” He wanted to immediately offer the beautiful mare safety among his vast home, in numbers with other mares who were mothers, and friends the same age as her boy and the soon-to-be newborn. Being witness to Darshan’s death in childbirth had made Zevulun twice as paranoid when it came to mares birthing children. He had always understood it was an ordeal and could be dangerous, but seeing it firsthand… that had offered much more sobering clarity on its dangers.
Still, Zevulun held his tongue. He absolutely was not going to let her leave without making the offer, or at least asking to see her safely to the Peak, but he wanted to do his best not to pressure her. After all, she was a stranger. She might find his worry to be insulting.
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