Perhaps that fall knocked sense into you.

Zevulun made a small noise behind his closed lips and then, unable to help himself, quietly added, “It wasn’t just the fall.”

Losing Claret; failing his daughter while actively trying to keep her safe. Watching Miriella remove herself from the herd and understanding that he couldn’t keep them all safe, no matter how hard he tried. Traveling to Salem and looking into the cruel face of the red mare who couldn’t care less about his daughter being ripped away, ready to bring an entire island to war over it, while her own daughter remained trapped elsewhere. The ongoing politics that swarmed over the islands and his desperate desire to provide sanctuary away from it, but knowing he could never actually be free from it. Even if he kept to himself, the vagrants would find him, and they would pick at him until they found any small moment of weakness.

This world was full of individuals that he couldn’t understand, who seized power at the expense of others, and the disgust he felt in his gut over it meant absolutely nothing. He was the minority… which was so beyond anything he could ever feel himself.

Then, just when life seemed to have recovered, when Claret was home and recovered, when he was greeting his new children as they came into the world, he was ripped cruelly away. Every second of consciousness he suffered, every time he failed in coming back to them or calling loud enough to be heard, Zevulun was reminded of his failures. Even when he swore he would never again fail them, he had. As much as he wanted to gracefully accept this lesson that had been handed to him, the past year had changed him more than he was ready to admit.

Zevulun’s pale ears flicked as Riesling answered him. When you leave… Stubbornly he found himself wanting to plant his pale hooves firmly into the Prairie soil and declare he had no intention to leave. If he wouldn’t, she wouldn’t. But the longer he lingered here the more his direct failure was being thrown mockingly in his face, and with every minute that passed it was making him angrier and angrier. Claret may prefer to stay… Whatever hard lines had pressed his lips thinly relaxed almost immediately. As Riesling concluded, reminding him Salem held no fond memories for their daughter, he blew a low breath and nodded, looking as exhausted as he felt once more.

I don’t know what I’d do if she was taken again.

Zevulun swallowed back the sudden, painful lump that’d lodged itself in his throat and nodded in agreement.

“I don’t know what I’d do, either.” He admitted in that same quiet voice he’d had earlier, his blue eyes holding a faraway look briefly before he blinked and seemed to mentally put those thoughts aside. They weren’t doing him any good right now. “I’ll keep her close,” he added, his voice not as hushed, and let his eyes meet Riesling’s. Hopefully she would see the conviction in his blue eyes. He would do what he could to never fail her or their daughter again.

“I won’t be staying here much longer,” he admitted, “I… it’s not a good idea.” For so many reasons. “As soon as I make sure everyone’s safe and knows where they can go, I’m going to leave for the Savanna.” Ideally he would rest, but Zevulun had no intention. As soon as the herd was safe, he’d make way down the length of Luthien and, once he was safely within their borders he would finally allow himself to relax.

Despite himself, he still searched her face and asked, "Are you sure you won't come with us to the Savanna?"