The weeks and months since washing ashore in the Prairie had been kind to the aging stallion. Zevulan had been welcoming. His mother had tenderly taken care of both his exhausted body and his wounded mind. The Prairie wrapped him in a warm blanket of summer days, cool autumn evenings and even a mild winter. His time had been spent wandering amongst the herd, paroling the borders and napping peacefully beneath the shade trees. As the days passed he noticed that his gaunt sides slowly filled out, pockets of fat covered the tender places along his back and his aging muscles grew strong. He is of course - not in the shape of his youth - but for a 20 year old stallion he looked well.

Today, he stood quietly beneath a shade tree in the middle of the Prairie, his thoughts wander from his children to his mother and finally to the frigid land that lay in the northern seas. One day. One day, he promised to himself. But for now he would continue to rest his old bones, search for the remnants of his family, and then once more if the gods allowed they would set their sights on Tinuvel.

A movement draws his brilliant blue gaze, one that was different from the Prairie herd. The Sabino drew a dark breath across his lips. No. It could not be? Numbly, his legs take one step. Then another. And another until his stumbling steps turn from a walk to a hurried tolt. His heart hammered in his chest. Sigurdr? Could his eyes be playing tricks on him?

ᚻ ᚻ ᚻ

Was it true? Could that old bastard of found himself in the Prairie? Sigurdr stumbled through the hissing surf and onto the hardened sands just beyond. His steps paused as he swiveled his dark head over his shoulders to check where he had just come from. His mother had abandoned the desert, leaving the vast desert lands vacant which allowed for him to escape her clutches. His attention returned to the grass lands that stretched as far as his eye could see - his father was hidden somewhere within.

His hooves hit the ground with renewed strength and vigor.

Each stride swept him from one side of the vast grassland to the next until the potent scent of a gathered herd drew him toward them. He slowed to an ambling walk as the herd took form amongst the grass and trees that dotted the land. His gaze swept across each back of the herd, until finally settling on a familiar form beneath a shade tree. His heart quickened and a joyous nicker rang out from his mouth. "Father!"

The distance between the pair narrowed until they were both wrapped in an embrace. Sigurdr buried his two toned head beneath his father's dark mane and pressed his forehead against his muscled neck. "I thought..." he breathed into his father's shoulder "you were dead."

He felt like all of them were dead. His siblings. Siobhan. He drew a ragged breath. "Have you found anyone else?" he asked as he pulled his head up and took a single step back. His heart raced as he watches the roller coaster of emotions across his father's face - answering the question without even uttering a syllable. NO.