Once the winged stallion had given his welcome and leapt off from his perch, Rohan lingers where he is for a moment, allowing others to shamble around him as he contemplates where to go next. Ultimately he follows the general mass of the crowd, which (predictably) is towards the fires. He is easily built for cold seasons such as this—with his thick body and dense hair—but the warmth would not be unwelcomed. With bright eyes, he watches the show that the dragons put on for them, twisting and twirling as they breathe their tongues of fire onto the dry wood. Rohan can’t help but admire their grace.

From his place towards the back of the group, Rohan allows his green gaze to lower, hovering over the crowd with an almost lazy eye, waiting for something to catch his attention—for something to beckon to him. A handful of moments tick away, people still milling about, some forming little circles of chatter while others try to shuffle closer to the glowing flames and the reprieve that they offer from Frostfall’s bitter chill. Perhaps it is no surprise that what ends up catching his eye is a pretty face and the graceful swaying of slender hips. He always was one to answer to the siren’s hushed summoning.

Arching his thick neck so that his muzzle tucks in towards his chest, the Warlander makes his way through the thin mass of bodies, trailing after the enchanting mare. She leads them to what seems to be the heart of the gathering—or, towards their hosts. The large winged stallion is there, the one who had greeted them so boisterously, accompanied by a handful of others. Rohan’s wandering gaze lingers on another mare for a moment—a pearly amber color—but this one is already tucked beneath the company of another stallion, and so his attentions return to the original damsel of his musings.

She is striking to say the least, his approval bringing a charming smirk from his brown lips. “I wouldn’t deny a lady her drink,” he ponders wittily as he draws within the proximity of the group, coming to settle loosely at the side of Maren. She had mentioned the Throat in her introduction—which Rohan can only assume is the fourth herd land that he has heard nothing about. The Throat. It sounds interesting already.

“My name is Rohan, and it is a pleasure, Maren—” he bows his handsome head to her in a mighty (and perhaps slightly overdramatic) gesture, before turning to the winged stallion, and inclining his head politely. He doesn’t do this often for other stallions, but perhaps one wielding such a title demands it of him “—and Czar. I must say your little festivities are enjoyable already; I hadn’t been sure what to expect.” It is meant as a compliment, of course, but some might not look past the overconfidence to see it. Not that it matters that certain company is what the stallion truly praises—a celebration attended only by dudes is not likely to be very exciting (or perhaps pleasing is a better word).

The heavens know a macho brawl is entertaining enough.


notes; I wasn't sure who I should tag xD
tag; Kaj, @[Destrier], @[Resplendence], & @[Maren]
“Speech.”