As he addressed the members who had gathered, more and more began to arrive. The relief he felt was no less impactful for each familiar face that resurfaced. However, when Mage appeared, Zevulun’s eyes whipped sharply from her side to the figure beside her and pain instantly struck his chest. He inhaled a sharp, shaking breath as Luna charged forward. She reminded him of the condition he had found her in, weak and barely clinging to life. She was one of his loved ones he worried about the most in his absence; Zevulun knew how much she depended on his constant, physical presence for reassurance. He could see how greatly she had taken his loss as she came quickly to him. A grunt was stifled behind his closed lips as she crashed into him, making him transfer some weight to his injured limb, which caused a ripple of white-hot pain to lance down through it. He corrected himself almost immediately, but though his body stiffened and the pain rippled across his expressions, Zevulun did nothing to take himself away from Luna. He did not reprimand her, either, for not being more careful of his injury.

The pale stallion only slung his neck over hers and pulled her up close against him, heart pounding in his chest as the wetness of her tears soaked into his hair. He never wanted to cause Luna any more grief; or any of the mares who lived with him. Zevulun had a tendency to collect different-minded women, which was a large reason in part as to why the Prairie herd lived in scattered gatherings among the rolling grass hills. Some depended on his attention more than others; most had suffered some form of loss or another in their past.

I love you her grief-stricken words were warm breaths over his face as she pressed her fore-head into his. Zevulun held steadfast and closed his eyes against the surge of tears that wanted to rise again. “I love you, too,” he whispered back, just as fiercely. He wished he could promise her he would never leave her alone again, but the freak accident that’d nearly taken his life (still could, too, if his leg didn’t continue to heal and became infected) told him plain and simple he wasn’t free to make such a promise.

At that moment there was nothing like one of his (many) excitable young children to break apart the heavy sorrow that was lying across the pair. Zevulun pulled his face from Luna’s, though offered her a gentle kiss against her red-freckled cheek, and then smiled down at his daughter. Her questions came rapid-fire and, just as he was deciding which to answer first, the sight of Larka slowly making her way forward and through the herd took his attention completely. He smiled, happy to see her, then caught her expression just before she started to speak.

“Zevulun… I am ashamed of you.”

He looked every bit the surprised and heartbroken young boy and not a stallion grown, well into his middle-years and creeping beyond them. Zevulun’s blue eyes widened and his stomach turned over, shame immediately bitter in his throat. She didn’t even need to explain herself, just the fact that she could feel ashamed of him made him feel no taller than her hoof. Confusion was in his gaze until she started to speak and, the more she did, the more he felt an anger growing inside him. It was defensiveness, it was the desperation that burned to keep a tight hold onto the Prairie and onto the vision of it that he had.

Zevulun was quiet for a long moment. His eyes never moved from Larka, simply looking at her with a hard, almost unreadable expression. He was angry she thought he would completely toss this stallion out. He was angry that she was angry, and he was ashamed that she was ashamed. Out of any of the herd who lived in the Prairie, he never thought Larka would be the one to question him and to question his character. Out of them all, she knew the most of him.

“I intend to offer to allow him and any of his family to remain in the Prairie, if he would agree to be a guardian. But I will not share leadership of these lands; we have gone through too much these past five years to trust a stranger to have such a responsibility here; a stranger who could possibly cause trouble elsewhere on the islands. I work tirelessly to keep this place the very opposite. If I told him now, on death’s doorstep as I am, that I refuse to share leadership of this territory he just rightfully claimed, but am kind enough to allow him to stay, he would laugh in my face.” He huffed a breath at the mere thought. “But if I offer the suggestion when I return in spring, maybe he’ll be more likely to consider the idea. The Prairie is always going to be a home to those who wish to seek shelter here. That has not changed. What has changed is my ability to blindly trust whoever comes across these borders to lead it. The Prairie will be mine again, to keep it a safe place. If he wants to stay here when that time comes, I would be more than welcoming.” His tone became pointed, as much as he wished he could have kept it level and calm. “Raziel will inform him of my terms, and of what will come eventually between us. I am in no shape to speak with him.”

Despite himself, Larka’s decision to stay here placed a small pinch of jealousy somewhere dark inside his mind. He knew it was because the Prairie was her home before it was his, but all he could picture was Larka sharing conversations with this stranger like she had him; Larka telling this stranger how disappointed she was in Zevulun, and bonding with the intruder over where Zevulun had failed her. When Balor had been gone and Zevulun had claimed the territory in his absence, hadn’t he begun to want to make moves on Balor’s mares? Hadn’t that been when he’d fallen for both Larka and Riesling? Hadn’t that even been when he’d felt a stirring in his heart that night he and Darshan shared at the river that bordered the Forest? What’s to say this stallion wouldn’t do the same, no matter how kind his intentions? Zevulun inhaled deeply, shakily, trying to push those unhelpful ideas aside.

“And I will tell Raziel to stay here with you, then,” he said, his voice quiet. His throat was suddenly tight and he felt tired; bone-tired. His head dropped a few inches and the exhausted lines showed on his face as his blue eyes fell away from her. “I will be close.” He promised, and tried to swallow back the bitterness at the thought that Larka might not care how close he stayed.