Even as the sun sinks lower in the sky and the shadows grow longer, beckoning closer the bitter chill of a winter’s night, Rohan does not slow—he does not stop. He hasn’t travelled for an enormous length of time, but his muscles are still warmed with their movement. He covers the tundra with a ground swallowing trot, steps high and flashy due to his Baroque heritage, the long plumes of his breaths trailing out behind him.

It’s his thoughts that have been running this day—running, running, running. Several weeks have passed since he had crossed the Threshold of Helovia, most of them spent in the wilds, discovering and exploring this new and mysterious world. But…but what? Still the Warlander is not nearly satisfied, and he wars with himself; is it the unknown that calls to him, or the responsibility and purpose of a herd, or something else entirely? He has never been an astute or responsible character, always restless and unsatisfied, but never can he remember being so…confused. The Edge? The Basin? Heaven, hell? It is all nonsense to him, and he snorts irritably, tossing his head with a maddened scowl.

But even through his angry and brooding thoughts, the antlered stallion is not oblivious to his surroundings. Slowing his pace to an extended walk, Rohan’s green eyes narrow as he inspects the shadow moving along the horizon. In his current state of mind, the Warlander is not particularly…searching for company, and considers leaving the stranger with a curt snort. However, their paths are already lined up to cross, and maybe he doesn’t feel wholly inclined to alter his direction. Lifting his head to sniff at the frosty air, Rohan identifies the stranger as a stallion, which initially puts him off. But then again…perhaps now it is not in his best interest to be pursuing a pretty lady (even if his body tells him otherwise).

Tilting his ears back in stubborn indifference, the Warlander continues onward, again picking up a ground swallowing trot as he angles himself inadvertently towards the shadowy stranger. As the distance steadily closes between them, it becomes obvious that this is no small beast. Perhaps he is not as bulky as Rohan is himself, but their heights certainly rival each other. “Evening, stranger,” the striped stallion’s deep voice booms out over the flat and empty landscape, broadening over the flush snowy ground without anything to deflect its sound. His greeting is neither friendly nor hostile—merely hanging on the precipice of both.

Having spoken to the winged stallion several paces before their paths finally came to a meeting point, Rohan slows to a quick, smooth halt, his body nearly perpendicular to the stranger’s shoulder. On more amiable days, he would allow himself to relax at an encounter like this—let his hip to dip sharply to the side as he rests a leg, an easy smirk on his lips, and a bright mischief in his eyes—but this evening he is in no such spirits.

His thick, hairy body remains poised, neither tense nor relaxed, but rather at a tipping point between both (much like his tone). “I seem to find many a traveler weathering the bite of winter’s darker hours,” the Warlander muses, mostly to himself, “are you of the Basin?” His gaze is cast momentarily to the rise of the mountains, and to the valley that lies beyond. Rohan presses his lips tightly together, and as he returns his attention to the other stallion, his eyes are an indiscernible mix of emotions—even to himself.


notes; First time he's been in this mood...we'll see where it goes xD
tag; @[Caleb]
“Speech.”

ROHAN
don’t get too close, it’s dark inside