A season away from his eighteenth year of life it was no wonder Zevulun’s list of regrets and mistakes was almost too long to list. He was quickly learning there would never be a time where he wouldn’t look back on something he had done or said and wish it’d been different. Since learning of Larka’s death, Zevulun had come to realize that listening to Riesling over her had been one of the biggest mistakes he had made.

Not that he regretted keeping the Prairie as his entirely, of course. Zevulun still felt protective over his idea of the peace he wanted to foster and, now that it seemed Bacardi was of a similar mind for all of Luthien, he wanted to continue moving forward to achieving it. Introducing a new leader who did not understand the politics of the islands could have opened the floodgates for issues; but still, he should have listened to Larka’s advice rather than turning his back on her. He should have remembered that this Prairie was her home long before it was his or Rieslings, and that she had been right to remind him he was once the usurper, come to take over the rolling grass hills and refusing to step aside once Balor returned.

He worried, of course, that the regret he felt was something that extended to Catori. She had been young, but he imagined she must’ve blamed him for leaving her and her mother here alone. Though it’d been a year since he took the Prairie back, things remained strained, and oftentimes he felt like he walked on eggshells around his and Larka’s daughter.

Since Larka’s death, however, he was thinking of Catori more; he was watching her more. Zevulun knew how it was to lose a parent to death when you were young, and his heart ached for their girl. Today he noticed she was on the fringes of the herd, grazing off by herself, as she often was – and his heart ached so swiftly, so fiercely, he found his pale hooves were moving before he registered that he had begun to walk.

He rumbled a soft nicker toward her as she approached, giving her ample time to turn away from him or indicate she didn’t want him near, but – should Catori allow and accept it – Zevulun wouldn’t stop walking until he reached her. If she showed any sign of not wanting him close, Zevulun would respect her wishes, no matter how badly he wanted to do the opposite. He hoped she might allow him close. All he wanted to do was put his head over his daughter’s neck and pull her close to his chest, just to hold her in the quiet for a little while. Should she allow it, the only words he would whisper softly to her once he could trust himself to speak without his voice cracking were – “I’m sorry, Catori.”