Zevulun had been waiting for the return of the stallion unknown to him, but who’s scent and name were burned in his mind. After finding the Prairie surprisingly emptied by chance, he had thought to finally speak with the dark stallion and see if he was a sensible sort. Perhaps if he had a chance to explain to the stallion that this home he had taken had deep rooted history to Zevulun, if he could learn what it was Zevulun attempted here, there would be no need for hurt feelings.

Of course, he’d also entertained the idea that this stallion may never come back again. In the five years he had led the Prairie, leaders had come and gone throughout each and every territory on the island. It wasn’t unheard of for newcomers to the islands to push on, return to the Mainlands and decide their place was not here. Even Zevulun, born of the islands, of Tinuvel, had spent his fair share of years away from the islands. Maybe it was for the best, then, if this blip remained just that.

Zevulun knew life had never been that kind to him.

The scent of the stallion reached him, along with that of another stallion and mare. The unknown duo didn’t worry him, but that smell he knew, did. Zevulun snorted roughly and loudly, the sound reverberating the air around him, and with an arch in his neck he strode proudly forward.

His back leg had healed over the last few seasons, but was still in the process. His white coat had deep, wide gouges of pink skin, scarred and unable to grow hair over the marks. He walked with a slow stride, but a strong one all the same. It would be too obvious he was not one-hundred percent healed, but this moment could not go away. The moment this stallion’s hooves were on his beach, Zevulun needed to meet him.

As he approached, he wished he’d been a few moments behind. Instead, he came up in time to hear the black stallion speak: And when the time comes, we'll rise again and create a new era in the Prairie. I won't rest until we do. Zevulun drew up short, feeling a spark of heated anger lance through his belly. The normally amiable stallion had a stone look across his face and it took everything he possessed to push it somewhat aside. At least for now.

“Well, this is an interesting way for us to cross paths for the first time.” He was surprised how level his tone was as he walked slowly forward. He offered an amiable smile to the pair that stood with the black stallion, the usurper, though his gaze briefly searched them to see if they showed any sort of agreement to what the other stallion had just said.

“I am Zevulun.” He introduced himself to the pair, “I have led the Prairie for over five years as an open, welcoming place for any to seek shelter so long as they don’t intend to bring trouble or harm to the others who live here.” His blue eyes drifted back to the black stallion. “Unfortunately, this means I will no longer be offering you a safe welcome to remain. I cannot let anyone stay here who may one day seek to overthrow what I have worked so hard to build here.”