No. He expected it, but the familiar hurt that chased any words of denial she spoke still struck him in his chest. I will not follow you. Those five words should have also been anticipated, but for some reason they stung worse than her initial denial. The partnership between he and Riesling had never been something concrete, but whatever common ground they’d begun to develop had its foundation cracked after Claret was taken. Any time there might’ve been a way to repair it, something new struck and seemed to make the fissure grow. Zevulun had always had his romantic dreams about Riesling, but standing with her here, one of his hooves over death’s threshold, her sides swollen large with a late pregnancy, and the understanding that their goodbye could most likely be a permanent one… It struck him how truly foolish he had always been with her.

If he was successful in taking back the Prairie in a few seasons, why would she return? She would be better suited at her brother’s side as he faced possible war, not tucked away here in the Prairie where Zevulun would pine after her and hope he might give some affection and love to whatever small pieces she possessed that could accept or even tolerate those feelings. Even if the Prairie was his again, Zevulun was only more determined to make it a sanctuary, a place for those who thought like him to tuck themselves away from the politics the more power-hungry leaders played out. This was not a place for her sharp mind, for who her world had made her out to be. Maybe it was paranoia, but Zevulun couldn’t fathom her ever being actually happy here, with him, not the way she would be the longer she stayed with her brother on Salem. He still remembered the look on her face when she had seen Rafe for the first time. Riesling would not follow him, and maybe now Zevulun finally understood what that meant, and how it went so far beyond a hopefully temporary stay in the Savanna.

Zevulun nodded. “I understand.” His voice was level, but there was a different look in his eyes this time as he studied her. A sad one. Not the pining puppy dog eyes he often gave her, but something of… finality.

“When I can make the swim, I’ll come to the Badlands to meet our child.” Their first child of three he wouldn’t be there to help raise, or really even know; the hurt from that was worse than anything else. He swallowed against the tightness crawling up his throat and fought to keep his composure. “Goodbye, Riesling.” Those two words were quiet when he spoke them, her name spoken far softer than the goodbye. His blue eyes lingered briefly across her face, and he suffocated and shoved away any confessions or pleads that wanted to come bursting from his lips. “Travel safe.” He only nodded once more, maybe more to himself than her, and turned away to leave. There were others who needed his attention, those who would make the trip with him down the Luthien shoreline to the Savanna. Those were who required his focus now.