Ah, Riesling.

Zevulun swallowed back the feelings he felt storm to the surface at the sight of the dark, familiar mare, as he always did. Her face was one he saw too, those days and then weeks and then months of being stranded, looking helplessly up at the cliff sides he couldn’t climb. He did not imagine her speaking sweet words of encouragement to him, but giving him hard truths. Your leg is useless, he would imagine her spitting angrily at him when he tried lurching to his feet, hobbling on other fresh injuries to attempt the climb. When he would inevitably tumble and fall back down the small progress of the incline that he had made, he would imagine her rolling her eyes and simply saying, See? What did I tell you. It was just as comforting as the love he envisioned awaiting him in Freya and Larka and Luna, and in all of his children from those of mature ages to those just newly born right before he’d disappeared.

He could not help but crack a wry grin at her tactical approach. She was, as always, the woman she was born to be. Despite the initial concern he’d felt at the sight of her, still pregnant when the season for birth had passed, Zevulun knew better than to voice or show it. She would be more likely to knock his ass back down in the dirt for even implying that she was somehow impaired, gruesome injury or no.

Zevulun huffed a breath, ready to speak, to tell him what he had decided already, then and now, but his eyes drew to Micah at the stallion’s approach. Not that Zevulun often adhered to the instinctual sexism that most stallions held strong to, but the sight of Micah provided further relief. The idea of a stranger coming across his home, his mares, in autumn of all seasons, when he was in no place to protect them, wasn’t one he relished. The sight of Micah showed him that what he’d been building within the Prairie, the commune he had wanted and the place of safety despite any blood ties, remained true even when he was ripped unfairly away from it. His pale ears flicked as he listened to Micah and he sighed, grunting and pulling his lips thin with brief pain while readjusting his weight. He already felt so tired, just the slow walk into his home (former? home?) had exhausted him, but Zevulun mentally shoved it all aside. There was no time to be tired, not while he had to see who was still here, who was safe, and figure out exactly how all of this was going to play out.

“Salem’s still at war, huh? I guess some things just don’t change around here.” Were the first words he cracked, thoughtfully, glancing over at his and Eirena’s new child, then back at Riesling, Micah, and Eirena. They had a bit of his characteristic humor, though they were said a little more dryly than they otherwise might’ve been, given the circumstances. He trusted Rafe to protect his own the same way he hoped that, were he in better condition, Rafe would know he could trust him with his. But, Micah was right, it wouldn’t do to send the family somewhere dangerous when they were trying to wait out a potential danger at their shores.

“There’s no shortage of places of safety for the herd,” he explained. “My daughter has Paradise, I am sure she would be more than happy to shelter those who wanted to stay on Atlantis. Leliel, in the Savanna with Kvasir, could take those who don’t wish to travel far from Luthien. I am sure Sidra could talk Bacardi into providing the same safety in the Forest, too.” Word would spread among the herd, those still here. There would be no shortage of safe places to stay until the Prairie could be theirs again.

“I won’t be leaving Luthien.” He said the words quietly, but firmly, and his eyes met Riesling’s. No one else’s. “I am not going to be far from the Prairie.” If Bacardi would host him, or even Kvasir, Zevulun could remain close. He could learn how many herd members the stallion managed to gather in his time here, maybe even learn any weaknesses that might be exposed when the time came. His mind was racing faster than his body was prepared to heal. “He seems an opportunist, then,” he said, mind turning over in thought, “there are plenty of territories among the islands that seem to go empty nearly each season that passes, maybe a new location will be enough to convince him to move along and avoid the trouble.” Unless he fell in love with this place while he was here, of course.

In that case…“It’ll be at least until spring before I’ll be in any condition to fight,” he admitted, “but I will fight if it comes to it.” Ironic, one would think having been in the same situation years ago, he would have chosen a potential route for peace and sharing. But some time before fate ripped him away, Zevulun had made a choice. As much as he shared the open borders of the Prairie with those who sought safety, at the end of the day, the Prairie was his and his family’s. He was not willing to negotiate that fact.

If Riesling could take the territory in winter, it would speed things along. Zevulun did not have such a large ego that he would feel shattered stepping aside for her to do so, nor did he doubt her capabilities. But… she was still pregnant, and very much so. Would she be physically able? Should she put herself into a fight with a new babe at her hip if she was? What were the dangers in prolonging things until he was capable and ready? There were too many questions and too few solid answers.

“Before we decide how we’re going to fight to take back our home and who will be the one doing it, we need to make sure everyone is still safe, and that they know there are places they can go to remain safe…” He let there be a small pause before adding, “and before I make my way to either the Forest or the Savanna, I need to meet this intruder face-to-face. I need to get a better understanding of his character, and I need him to understand what he’s taken from all of us.”