Following Zevulun back to the Prairie felt like the arrival of spring after an eternity of winter — though ironically, Sabriel soon found herself in the midst of the first winter she’d experienced in years. The cold wasn’t so bad; her dark coat grew in longer and thicker, softening the edges of the white swirls drawn upon it. But the snow, on the other hand… Breaking through the deceptively-hard crust at its surface, the black mare foundered after the pale stallion for a few moments before she surrendered with breathless laughter, calling out to him. “Zevulun!” She gathered her legs beneath her, leaping forward in a graceful motion that ended — quite gracelessly — with her overbalancing and coming down on her side in the snow.

“Zev, waiiitttt!” Sabriel tried to roll herself back upright, but somehow wound up on her back like a beetle, dark legs kicking senselessly in the air. It was ridiculous and stupid — and the thought of the cremello turning to see her like this made the mare laugh all the harder, her sides aching with every breath. She couldn’t even stop long enough to ask for Zevulun’s help, though the stallion would undoubtedly offer it anyway. Without judgment or scolding, he’d rush to bring her comfort in whatever way that he could. Because that — that was simply how he was. And in the end, it was that very selflessness which had allowed Sabriel to be selfish. To chase her happiness out here to Luthien, even if she feared that it might end in sorrow for one or both of them.

There was no sorrow in her now, though. Years had fallen from the silver black in the days since she’d come to join the Prairie’s herd. She felt — she felt half a child again, giddy and bursting with life and promise. It brought back memories of the rare moments she’d shared with Lirael and Sephiroth. The games of nip-and-chase, the way they’d shriek with laughter when she blew into their bellies, the fascination of experiencing things for the first time through their eyes. Soon, she would have the chance to be a mother again. The chance to do it right this time, to savor the milestones as they came instead of looking back on them wistfully after they’d passed.

But there was something she wanted to do, first. No, something she had to do.

It’d been too long since she’d visited that lonely spot on the Cove’s shore. Too long since she’d spoken to the son who had never been. And Sabriel — she didn’t think that she could face this again without going to see Uriah first. Without reassuring him (and herself, too) that it didn’t matter whether she had two children or two hundred. He would always be her first, and she would always love him with a piece of her heart that nothing else could touch. Not Solomon, who’d shown her what beauty could grow from the ashes of grief. Not Bondurant, who’d snuck his way into her heart from the first moment he stood beside her. And not Zevulun, who’d helped her to be whole again.

Would Zevulun understand, though? And would he come with her if she asked him to? The last note of laughter died on Sabriel’s lips, fading into solemn silence as she twisted her head to look for him. Trying to think of a way to explain to him how much it hurt her to think of leaving this place — and him — even for a short time. Living in the Prairie, being with Zevulun— it had felt like coming home.

But the place her Uriah had been laid to rest was home, too. Or at least, it was home to the piece of her that had died with him that day.