What he had told Sidra was true, the pain was not as great as it had been weeks ago when he first returned to the Prairie. The healers Micah had found had great knowledge of medicinal plants and practices a horse could use to ensure they had healed; it had made Zevulun begin to think that the Prairie herd should have a horse or two among them who shared this important knowledge. Yet the walk to the Forest had taken more out of him than he cared to admit, and Zevulun briefly wrestled with the shame that crawled up his throat at the inarguable evidence of his weakened condition. Maybe it had been foolish of him to come here now, given how little Bacardi cared for him, despite Sidra’s insistence that the Forest lead was not the stallion Zevulun had thought him to be and their relationship needn’t stay as fractured as it was. The care she had for Bacardi had not only been obvious in how she had told him, point blank, that she had fallen in love with him, but in how she behaved, too. Zevulun watched his daughter brighten as Bacardi drew close and even saw the way the Forest lead looked over her, too.

It brought him some peace to see that Sidra had found her place and had found someone to care for her. Zevulun loved her mother, but Luna had difficulty paying much attention to their daughter or to raising her when most (if not all) her focus was given to him. Sidra had a good heart, and any time he had watched sorrow strike her face it’d cut right through him. To see her happy, healthy, and at peace here was all he ever wished to see for his children.

He glanced at Bacardi as the stallion addressed him. With a small grunt of effort he pushed his weight back to his hooves, though he still kept most of the pressure off his still-healing back leg. “I wanted to come and thank you, face-to-face.” His voice was level, but somewhat soft. “Sidra told me you offered sanctuary to any in my herd when I was gone, and that you have kept her safe here.” He glanced over at his daughter, who he saw was smiling, her eyes hopeful and warm as they skipped between him and Bacardi. “I know it wasn’t for me, or anything to do with me,” he clarified, “but I wanted to thank you all the same.”

It was important to Zevulun. Even if Bacardi brushed aside his words and curtly dismissed him then, Zevulun would at least feel somewhat better knowing he’d come here to offer his gratitude.

“I also thought you might like to be told firsthand what’s going to be happening with the Prairie in the next coming seasons,” he added. Out of every lead on Luthien now, Bacardi was the one who had been here the longest. The Forest shared much of its border with the Prairie, too. “Another stallion claimed the land while I was…” on his deathbed, uncertain if he would make it through to the next sunrise, “...indisposed.” There was no anger or even irritation in Zevulun’s tone when he said so; he had been an opportunist himself once, so he couldn’t find it in himself to hate the stallion who’d come to take the Prairie when he thought it was ripe for plucking. “I am hoping to be healed enough by spring to challenge for it back.” And hoping, too, that he was strong enough to succeed. The idea of losing the challenge nagged at the back of his mind, but he always put it aside. All he could do was focus on the next step in what he felt he needed to do in order to redeem himself. “I think, if I’m successful, I would like to discuss holding a meeting with all of us who lead territories here on Luthien. There have been whispers of a coming war between Tinuvel and Salem for years, it’s only a matter of time before those whispers find more volume. We should be more unified, or at least know where we all stand, in case…”

Zevulun remembered standing here with Persephone when she told him of the war that had been fought on this very land. That prickling sense of dread that had haunted him as of late sent a brief chill down his spine. His pale coat twitched.

“In case the worst should come.”