There were fewer mares whose sides grew with evidence of more children, which was as much a blessing as it felt like a curse to a man who loved his children more than anything else. He chose to try and keep his eyes on the positives, though it was harder to do that these days than it used to be. It seemed that everything he’d faced had finally taken its toll and he couldn’t so flippantly laugh away potential threats, instead looking at them quietly when he was alone, holding them behind closed lips so as not to frighten his loves or their children, and forcing himself to cling as hard as he could to what could be good of a dwindling herd.

It gave him more time to pay better attention to the mares who were pregnant. Whether they thought this was a good thing or not, Zevulun didn’t know. All he knew was that the past season he’d spent stuck near his pregnant mare’s sides, able to watch them a little more closely than he might’ve in the past. His mind wasn’t pulled in as many directions so, when Aurélie took her leave, Zevulun’s glacial gaze flicked over to her and trailed her quietly, making no movement to follow even though everything inside him wanted to stick to her like glue.

Time had taught him that most mares preferred their privacy when giving birth and, when they were rested and ready, they would bring the babe to him or sing a sweet, beckoning song to call him near.

Zevulun spent the time Aurélie was away a little distance from the herd, though still near them, idly straying a few inches here and there toward the direction she had gone. It wasn’t until the time had gone on too long for his anxiety to handle that he made sure Hael and Lohan were otherwise distracted before he slipped away, not wanting to increase their worry if they saw their father leaving the herd to check for their mother.

Zevulun walked among the whispered grass, the air crisp and cool from a fresh rain. A cool breeze lifted his long pale hair off his neck and, with it, brought the soft tang of something familiar. His body cheated toward it immediately, but he willed himself to continue to walk patiently rather than thunder down the path in a panic.

Everything is okay, he told himself with each carefully placed step. Everything is okay, he repeated even as the wretched tornado and flashes of horrible moments during that event tried to pry it’s way in, as though to remind him of just how not okay things could be. Everything is okay, again, even as the smell grew stronger, enough that he had to push it out of his nostrils in a soft snort.

This was how, rather quietly for a large stallion, the Prairie lead came upon his love and their newborn daughter, curled together among mud and torn, flattened patches of grass, and found himself with a smile that quickly grew wide. The smile slowly slipped away as concern touched his gaze. He looked over Aurélie and the scene surrounding her, sensing that this had not been simple. (Not that birth ever was a simple thing.)

She must’ve been exhausted…

Zevulun stayed where he was, not wanting to be too close to her when she first stirred in case her exhaustion had her briefly sleep-deluded and delayed in recognizing him. But he raised his voice, just a little, hoping not to frighten their child but only to have her attention, as he called to her. “Aurélie, my love,” he whispered once he’d thought he noticed her breathing change as though she was waking up, and thought he might’ve seen her eyelids flutter. “Are you two okay?” He could see with his own two eyes that they seemed okay, but wanted verbal confirmation just to be safe.