The stallion’s ears tilt backwards before they turn to focus on the arrival of someone else, someone new. From the swirling mists she steps towards him, her willowy body unlike any creature he has seen before—both naked and haired, nimble and elegant, she reminds him of a minx—enchanting and cunning in her wiles—as she sweeps forward to greet him. The stallion comes to a smooth halt, the thick length of his tail swishing once around his lower back legs, some strands entwining with the dark hair that feathers their front.

She speaks to him in metaphors, her voice as smoky as the murky fog that surrounds them, likening their herd’s resilience to the shattered glass wall that lays crumbling behind him. Rohan’s brown nostrils curl as he exhales slowly, his thick neck arching as he casts a glance to the crushed clear crystal. While certainly intriguing, he has never found himself particularly drawn to its jagged remains—it has never seemed welcoming. Not that the Warlander cares much for such things, but even he recognizes that (surely) there must be a difference between a fortress and a home (even if the Edge has yet to become just that).

Perhaps it is all a moot point anyway.

“Who’s to say I’m not an intruder myself, sweetheart? The jagged edges have done little to sway my advance,” there is an ominous edge that colors his deep voice, playful it might be, accompanied by the crooked smirk that skews his lips as he turns his face to look back to her. His long forelock tangles with the lower points of his antlers, draping over his brow in creamy, unruly curls.

Of course, Rohan doesn’t mean to oppose the pale mare, merely challenge her a little bit (because what’s the fun in a game, if there is no competition?) in any case, she seems to be more than up to the task. Shifting his weight forward, the striped stallion continues almost absentmindedly, his voice slipping musingly from his lips. “Either way, I believe a wall would do better—and it’d certainly be more aesthetically pleasing,” his green eyes wander again to the broken glass, considering it for a moment, before returning to the horned minx, “but it would seem the Moon has seen fit to grace me with enough beauty tonight.”

He flirts with her shamelessly, giving her a coquettish twist of his lips and an enticing—hungry, even—gleam that flares through his earthy eyes. Lowering his large antlers and curving his muscled neck in an overly dramatic bow, the Warlander introduces himself in a flourish of practiced, theatrical charm, “My name is Rohan, I’m a warrior for the Edge.” The glowing light of late dusk halos them both, beckoning night ever closer with starry, velvet fingers.


notes; Sorry for the wait and...kind of awkward post xD
“Speech.”

     RUN AWAY WITH ME
lost souls and reverie; running wild and running free.