Spring had always been his favorite season in the Prairie and every one of the horses who’d lived here long enough to experience it with him knew it well. Zevulun would spend hours romping about the flower fields with all his new children in tow, all too happy to give their mothers whatever break they felt they may need.

Yet as year after year went by there were less children to kick and leap at his heels. There were still some of course, as he had grandchildren now, but it wasn’t until one day toward the end of spring where he was standing quietly in the midst of the flower field that it struck him… this season was truly the first since his return to the islands he had not bore his own children.

Zevulun thought he would be depressed by such news… but he wasn’t.

His blue eyes lifted from the multi-hues of flowers he’d been quietly watching to instead reach up for the endless blue sky. When he had returned to the islands he had promised he would make a home for his family, that he would watch his children grow up, that he would always provide them a place of safety if they needed it… and he had done all of those things. In some ways he felt a sense of fulfillment. Yet… in another way, there was an understanding settling into his bones.

No children. The ache of his injured leg was sometimes more stiff than it had been in years past. He could not patrol from dawn to dusk or swim from island to island to recruit for the herd or visit with friends or even explore, as he once loved to do. When he looked out on the Prairie now, Zevulun no longer saw his home.

He saw his children’s home. He saw Castillon and his herd. He saw Lir and his herd. He saw those who had remained steadfast guardians as well as those who made the conglomeration of the Prairie herd. He was no longer certain of how many years he had left to live (not that he would ever speak such a thought to anyone) and while he was sure others would possibly panic at the thought, he found he was coming to it with… acceptance.

He blew a soft breath from his lips and dropped his head back down to look level across the great expanse of the home he’d grown to love so dearly - even more than he’d ever loved the Bay. Gathering the air in his lungs he let loose a beckoning call, inviting any from the herd who might want to join their leader for a little run through the flowers before the summer heat came and began to cause them to wilt away.