Within just the first few sentences out of the young roan paint, Zevulun found himself absolutely stunned. The Hills queen was dead? The colt-stallion standing before him, Evrain, was not only her son, but Rafe’s, too. Riesling’s nephew. Too, Evrain told him the sleek, dark stallion who’d bested Zevulun and taken Claret away in the first place was gone. The emotions that stirred inside Zevulun were surprisingly mixed, leaving him even more at a discomfort. He had stood there in the Hills himself, in pain, both emotional and physical, seething with rage, and wished he might have inflicted some grievous injury on the Hills leaders… but never once had he wished for their death.

It should have filled him with relief, and perhaps there was a nugget of it burrowed beneath the other mess of feelings. Maybe once the shock had worn off he could feel it more fully.

The one thing he did do, however, was relax his guarded, aggressive stance he’d previously approached the situation with. His blue eyes widened the moment Claret’s name left Evrain’s lips. I’m planning on bringing Claret back as soon as I can. She was coming home? As much as it would have been smarter to not show his excitement, there was no way to hide it. Hope picked the older stallion’s head up a little higher and seemed to light a warm glow in the glacial blue eyes that regarded the young stallion before him so closely.

He felt a prickle of tears, but held them at bay. Later, when his daughter was safely on the Prairie shore again and he could grab her up and apologize for ever having failed her to begin with, Zevulun could weep. Now… now was the time to be the Prairie leader, not Claret’s father.

Zevulun wondered if he should hesitate the moment the young stallion spoke of potential alliances. But for a moment he studied Evrain - truly - looked the boy over, and felt it only right to show his trust.

“I don’t need time to think about it,” Zevulun said quietly. Promises are nothing without action. “Your family is very important to me.” Not just because of Claret. Riesling. The boy even sounded like Rafe. It almost made Zevulun want to grin, but he kept his expression neutral before offering a small, agreeable nod. “Consider us allies, Evrain.”

It could be a trap, a ruse. Marceline could be alive and well in the Hills after all, playing some more trickery and games to keep Zevulun from prowling around at the Hills borders as he promised he would eventually come to do. But there was something about the young stallion in front of him that told Zevulun to trust what he was saying. To trust that he would see to Claret’s safety - had been making sure to see to her safety this entire time - and bring her back home. Fate had played her hand and this time it had happened to swing in Zevulun’s favor. He wouldn’t question it; he would simply be grateful.