“Sialia!”

He gasps as he starts awake, the temptress’ name sliding and cracking from between his teeth in a snarl, muddled and clouded with the lingering fog of sleep. The stallion blinks blearily against the darkness, adjusting to the murky shadows that lay quiet around him. In his mind’s eye, the bright light and rolling hills of his homeland slowly fades, giving way to the thick trees and dancing moonlight of what must be reality. His large, hairy body, cocooned in the white powder of winter, lies tense and sweating despite the cold, a steady pale steam rising from his skin.

The bright green of his eyes is cast frantically around, confusion knitting his rugged brow together and mingling with the horror and shock that still knot tightly in his chest—lingering from the false reality that had clutched at him so ferociously. He pants against the discomfort, white breaths curling from his nostrils in thick billows, not daring to move yet as his mind stretches and string for answers, for an explanation. It had felt so real. He could have sworn that—just moments ago—he was back in Etherim, judged and persecuted by his very own exploitations.

How could it not have been real?

Somewhere, between the place of wakefulness and dreams, he has been held accountable, and it is now back in the certain, clenching grip of reality, that Rohan knows of nothing but to escape it. Heaving himself to his hooves, the Warlander stumbles forward into the darkness, not bothering to shake the snow that clings to the hair of his body as he moves in between the trees. He doesn’t know where he’s going or where to go—only to move.

It is by the light of the moon that he catches sight of her a short while later—a mare, tall and slender, wafting through the Threshold’s woods. She is beautiful, the dark hue of her skin makes it seem as if she would melt into and become one with the shadows at any moment, held only in her current form by the exotic blue lines that lace her body. Memories of a similarly marked mare—one of black and purple—surfaces amidst the restlessness of his mind, and he wonders if this particular beauty will be as fascinating as she. Perhaps the genetic anomalies of this strange place will tilt in his favor after all.

Snorting breathlessly to himself, the large stallion strides up to the stranger with a confident swagger, as eager for a distraction as she must be for company. “You look lonely, darling,” the breadth of his deep voice is almost booming in the silence of the night, despite the neutral volume of his tone, “are you lost?” His eyes catch the light of the moon as he settles comfortably in front of her, quite contented to share her company, all but disregarding her opinion of the matter.


tag; @[Ahvelyn]
“Speech.”