Zevulun stood quietly at the bank of one of the wide rivers that snaked through the Prairie’s rolling hills. The soft babbling of the water as the current pushed around granite boulders filled his ears, behind it were the chirps and songs of birds and the buzzing of bumblebees. If he listened closely enough, he might hear the distant sounds of the herd rifling through the grasses, grazing, swishing their tails; maybe he would hear the laughter of his children, unburdened by stresses and free to play among the safety and love he and his herd mates had fostered here.

The cream stallion knew that despite the hardships that had plagued the Prairie for the last few years (or perhaps because of), peace had come at last. Even if it were brief and pieces of it were still somewhat fractured and frayed at the ends there had been at peace. In his years since returning to the islands and taking leadership upon his inexperienced shoulders, Zevulun learned quickly to soak in the peace. He needed these memories to carry him through when things grew strained and stressful again. He needed to be able to close his eyes and pull himself away from the grief, back to the moment he was standing in now, where the world was calm and he felt fulfilled. This was the reason he fought, even when fighting was the hardest thing to do.

The sound of approaching steps drew him from his idle thoughts. Zevulun blinked his eyes open, one ear twitching back on the approaching figure. It was one of his oldest daughters, Miriella, and when she saw she had his attention he noticed her falter somewhat in step. She looked apprehensive, even nervous. A frown softly clipped his brow and Zevulun lifted his head, turning it toward her to focus more closely on her.

“Is everything alright, Miriella?”

It had been seasons since she’d disappeared rebelliously off to Atlantis on her own. When she’d returned, Zevulun had shown his disappointment fully, not coddling her as he was often prone to do with his children. For a little while their relationship had been strange as she sulked and he began to feel guilty, but eventually things seemed to have leveled out again. He noticed she didn’t spend as much time with Leliel (though he had a feeling Leliel was more interested in the Savanna these days), but hadn’t pried to figure out what was happening between his daughters.

“Everything’s okay, dad,” she said, and as she drew to a stop before them he couldn’t help but see her mother in her. Even though she had his gold-inspired colors, Miriella looked like her mother in build. “I just have something to ask you.”

She was so much taller than she was last season, wasn’t she? Standing before him was no longer the spindly-legged little filly, picking on Jasper until he cried and Zevulun was forced to intervene.

“What is it?” He asked, his voice calm despite a sneaking apprehension building somewhere in the wings.

“I want to leave the Prairie. For good.”

He had to have known it was coming, of course. Jasper had gone off to Salem with Khan, promising to return eventually. Leliel, as previously thought, was certainly spending more time off in the Savanna after a boy she was infatuated with and no longer around either. Of course Miriella would want to go too.

But Zevulun worried about her… her impulsiveness, her hardheadedness… the fragility that he knew was underneath, that she had only cracked and shown a few times. When he had named her after Mariael, he had not intended to do-so with any notion that she would remind him of his sister, but as Miriella grew older, it became apparent that she would.

“Where are you planning to go?” He asked carefully, trying to keep the nervousness out of his voice. Zevulun knew he couldn’t tell her that she couldn’t go, but he wished he could. He wished he could keep her safe, he wished he could help her see that she didn’t have to be so angry at the world… but these were things he couldn’t control. Maybe a small ache would nestle in his heart every time he thought of her the same way it did for Ysabel. Knowing he was powerless to give them the one thing he wanted for them most.

“I don’t know,” she answered, and he could see her lift her chin a little, notice the nervousness in her that she was trying to hide.

“Well,” he sighed, turning somewhat in step to face her better. “I can’t tell you no, you’re an adult now and plenty capable of making your own decisions, but…” His eyes leveled with hers and he softened. “I will always be here for you, if anything happens… if you ever need me or somewhere to go.” He’d said those words many times to his children, but now they almost choked him up a little bit. How long would it be before he saw Miriella again? Would she stay on the islands, or did she intend to go to the mainlands? There was just as well a chance he may never see his daughter again.

“Come here,” he beckoned, his voice almost a whisper. It was the comforting voice that’d soothed her after nightmares as a child, that’d tucked her in and held her close when she’d been small and afraid and needed him. Miriella stepped toward him a little quickly, pressing her face up against his chest and pushing hard into his embrace; she did so with such need that it momentarily surprised him, and then a smile melted over his face and he held her as closely and as firmly as he could.

They parted moments later and said their goodbyes as she turned to walk up the sloping, grassy hill she’d come from. She paused briefly to look back at him, then forward again, and Zevulun watched until he couldn’t see her any more. He sighed and looked back down at the clear waters in front of him again, watching them break around rocks and bubble and swirl on down, carrying on with the current.