A particularly warm autumn day wakes me from a deep slumber and though I have to blink the grogginess from my eyes, I feel quite energized given my travels of late. Today I decide that I will abandon all calls to duty and simply oblige my desires for relaxation- I’ve had enough of the Threshold and its many trials. In fact, I find that the borders of the Edge feel claustrophobic and thin, as if they hold me accountable for all their displeasure over the past few weeks. I hate to admit that I feel so… off-put by their image, but flee the confines of their bosom anyways.

Though it has been long since I’ve last seen the wide berth of the meadow, I find that it is just as enchanting as I remember it to be. The thick groups of violet thistle are more vibrant than ever, but I suspect their color will fade with the coming of snow and ice. Even as I amble thoughtlessly through their midst, I am taken by the idea of a faraway spring and the subtle warmth and life it will bring. Winter is the season of hibernation and not one I welcome openly… though I am hopeful that spending it nestled away with Evangeline will help to soothe the restlessness it brings. The recreation of her warmth is enough to stir my excitement for such a time and while I ponder intimate nights and blissful days at her side, I am suddenly struck by the scent of the woman herself.

It’s a strange thing to reckon with –that we always seem to find one another when we least expect- and something I am growing fonder of each day. I feel that there is a tie between us, an invisible thread that connects her heart with mine, and it somehow brings us together when we are too far apart. It is not unlike the connection I share with Sabine in that I cannot bear to be without her, much less imagine she is without my protection, especially now that she is heavy with child. In truth, it doesn’t take much to figure where the mare might be… not with her appetite growing thrice its size. I spend much of my time now imagining what our child will look like or whether it will be filly or colt. My mind has run away with itself on many an occasion dreaming up fantastical young heirs to a kingdom made of dust.

While it doesn’t take long to find the mother to my second child, I am more than surprised to find her in the company of a large, antlered stallion of heavy breeding. As if I am somehow possessed, my anger flares –as well as my pride— and I find myself forcing my lazy heels to obey a quicker stride. Neither party appears to be distressed, but my overprotective nature brings about an electric energy that I cannot suppress or ignore. Even at a distance I can see that the male is respectful of Eva’s person, but it does not stop me from shaking loose a low, bitter rumble upon approach.

“Evangeline,” I breathe when I am close enough to observe Tallis perched comfortably astride her rump, unaware. It is then that I am of sound mind enough to regard the other male with as much decency as any vigilant lover might. “Hail friend, I’m sorry to intrude, but you seem to have uncovered a source of discomfort here,” I inform boldly while glancing to Evangeline and her swollen stomach. Involuntarily, I glance back at the mare, studying the fine dips of her face all the way up to her eyes in search of any hidden messages she might convey there. However, there is nothing of usefulness that I can find and I instead turn my stare back toward the unnamed brute, uncertain as to whether or not he has produced said appellation.