living like we're
     r e n e g a d e s

One of the stallion’s rimmed ears splays to the side when Tembovu mentions elephant, his apparent preference to his size. Bright green eyes appraise his fellow herd mate a short moment, mulling over the idea; personally, he prefers mammoth himself (it seems much a more powerful, proud, and promising title) but he will not argue with the horned stallion. Tembovu isn’t nearly as hairy as himself, after all, which he supposes is the difference between the two massive beasts. “Very well then, elephant,” his brown lips twitch into something of a smirk, quite amused himself with the description (for it can be nothing but fitting).

His skin twitches along the length of his abdomen, and his large head turns as his teeth nip at his agitated gut while Tembovu continues, confirming Rohan’s assumption of his herd rank. The Warlander returns his head slowly to its natural position, not wanting to upset his already throbbing head further, a low hum, a shadow of a chuckle, whispering from his throat. “Well the shattered glass wall is ever so welcoming,” his lips curve into a more genuine, crooked smile for a moment, his voice laced with dry humor, “I’ve mentioned as such to our leaders...I don’t think Torleik was particularly amused.” His smirk deepens in amusement, recalling the black stallion’s passive-aggressive humor.

Rohan has yet to form a solid opinion of the Friesian king, or either of their kings for that matter (not that he’s taken the time to do so). He isn’t particularly fond of the idea of being ruled, remembering only the iron-fisted, harsh authority of his dastardly father. He will not be governed in such a way again. (Why had he joined a herd at all then, you might wonder—why not stay an Outcast?) Perhaps because he had wanted to know, somehow, that not all governments are crumbling. Or perhaps to prove something to himself.

Perhaps, one day, the wilderness will call to him again.

“A few more pretty faces might do us some good too,” the Warlander muses with a roguish smirk and shameless play in his eyes. He does love the ladies, after all, and at least from what he’s experienced thus far, the Edge could use some more elegant touch ups (although the Edge mares that he has met are nothing short of striking). Surely, there can never be too many women around.

Flicking the length of his cream tail around his lower legs, Rohan shifts his weight, grunting a little as the tension in his muscles pulls at the tight, scabbed skin of his flanks. “The same as you, I believe. A few seasons now,” he purses his lips as he considers his answer to Tembovu’s question, wondering if he could say the same; it seems that the time has both been fast and drug out. “I’m afraid I didn’t have much of a life to leave behind. Helovia has tempted me with the mysteries of her wilds, and I have found it difficult to resist,” he gives a gruff chuckle. Of course, he had left behind everything—and everyone. But it is information that he keeps locked away, buried and smothered beneath his guilty pride.


“Speech.”

rohan