(backdating this to winter <3)

After his meeting with his father, Evrain returned to the Hills, satisfied that he had secured his sire's allyship. There were three others on his list whom he intended to visit: Zevulun, the Prairie stallion; Nyimara the witch-queen; and the unknown stallion in the west who wore the Desert crown. If he could get all three of them on his side, Marceline would have no hope of stopping him when he stepped up to usurp her throne.

He stayed there for the remainder of the night and well into the next day, scoping out an opportunity to get away. It was well after noontime when he found his chance and headed swiftly towards the northern shore, slipping effortlessly into the sea. He knew he was risking a lot by leaving Claret alone, but he had to do this. She would be fine for half a day - he could only hope. His heart pounded wildly against his chest as he thrashed his legs beneath him, each stroke bringing him further from home and into colder waters.

In the two short years of his live Evrain had never set hoof off the island of Salem and had not a clue what to expect of the journey to come. He'd heard enough from his mother and from the wanderers that occasionally came through to know the general layout of the islands and what their climates were. He knew Salem was the southernmost, and its closest neighbor was the paradise island of Atlantis. Then there was Luthien - he'd gleaned from his father and Riesling that that was where Zevulun lived - and finally there was the pale jewel of Tinuvel all the way to the north, crowned in snow.

Evrain had been curious the first time he'd learned what snow was, and exhilarated when it had fallen one rare winter day in the Hills. It was barely a dusting, burned away by the sun within hours of its rising, but he had delighted in those short few hours where the strange white flakes had fallen serenely from the sky and speckled the ground. It hadn't snowed in the Hills since.

Maybe, one day, he would go see Tinuvel and all its snow-laden glory for himself. But there was no time for entertaining fanciful thoughts like that right now. He had to find Zevulun, before Marceline noticed he was gone and sent Senu after him. Or worse, came after him herself.

Yet as he approached the crossing island he could see it was thoroughly coated in the stuff, the island sparkling in the sunlight under a thin coat of fresh snowfall. Evrain's youthful heart began to pound with excitement rather than anxiety. He had made it unscathed to the Crossing isle. As he hauled himself from the sea he spared a glance over his shoulder to ensure he was not followed.

Seeing no one, Evrain set his sights northward, but not before taking a moment to pause and marvel at the landscape before him. Pristine ivories and rich shades of earthen brown stood out in stark contrast against the cloudless azure sky. His breath came in thick clouds from his nostrils as he breathed in deep lungfuls of crisp air that stung at his nose and lungs. How different everything looked here compared to home. As a shiver set in, his desert-bred body trembling, Evrain quickly decided he preferred the warm climate of Salem compared to this - beautiful as it was.

He followed the beach north until he spotted Luthien, or what he hoped was Luthien. Bracing himself, he plunged back into the frigid waters, one step closer to his destination.

When the Hills prince touched hoof of Luthien, he was reminded of the Dunes, simply because of how vast and empty the land before him was. The smell here was distinctly not Zevulun - he remembered the stallion's smell from where it carried on the night breeze, so unfamiliar from the feminine perfumes of Riesling and Marceline or the desert-rich musk of his father. So he did the only thing he could think to do and began zigzagging across the island until he picked up a trace of the speckled king's scent, latching onto it like a bloodhound.

Letting his nose be his guide Evrain followed the scent until it grew so strong and so fresh it was nearly smothering in its intensity. He paused at what he hoped was the border that marked Zevulun's home apart from the others, a forest standing at his back like a silent row of sentries. For a long moment the only sound was the faint clicking of bare branches against one another, the rustling of pine needles, and a distant songbird's cry.

Then the silence was shattered when Evrain lifted his head and let out a shrill call, meant only for one: Zevulun. The overo prince fell into silence then, waiting with practiced patience for the stallion he hoped to strike a deal with next.


mixed • blue roan overo • fifteen-three
prince of the hills • rafe x marceline • pippa