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

So, he has reached the end of Helovia—one part of it anyway.

The stallion’s gaze lingers for a long moment on the horizon, pondering its mysteries and what unknowns might lurk out there, before he turns parallel along the shoreline. Pale hooves sink into the sand as he walks, his gait slow, but not without the natural pride and elegance of his Baroque ancestors. The heat of Tallsun beats down upon his back, and being a creature much more suited to cooler seasons, he finds himself uncomfortable beneath the warmth. He paces idly, listening to the whitecaps as they crash along the sands.

Suddenly there is the clear splashing of water, one that does not belong to the rhythmic waves, that draws the stallion’s attention outward towards the horizon. Dark-rimmed ears press forward, searching with bright green eyes to land on the dark figure—a pegasus mare, standing not too far from the shoreline, appearing to bathe herself in the briny, pulsing waters. Rohan purses his lips for a moment, wondering why he hadn’t noticed her arriving sooner (because surely he could have seen her coming), but chalking it up to the consumption of his own thoughts, the Warlander soon brushes aside the why and focuses on the now—

—because now is his for the taking.

Flicking his long, unruly tail around his flanks (the skin of his hips and back now hardened well, and hair is finally returning from his battle wounds), Rohan shifts his path in the winged mare’s direction, arching his muscled neck and releasing a breathy snort. The ocean’s cool water froths up about his hairy legs when he steps into its salty clutches, licking eagerly at his skin as pale hooves carry him steadily forward.

She is beautiful, he notes as the distance between them diminishes. Her body is toned and sleek, colored a velvet black—he catches a glimmer of something (scales, maybe?) that reflects the water’s light on her lower chest, peeking over the ocean’s surface periodically as it rises and falls with its powerful current. Lustrous raven wings hug her sides, metallic in their shine, attracting him like a moth to a flame. Green eyes take her in with a hunger that only nature’s testosterone can provide, primal and ravenous and simply desperate. Truly, it would seem that nature had His way when creating the male mind, so impossibly driven by these primitive instincts.

“I’d be happy to help you with that,” the large stallion muses, coming to a slow halt and observing the blood encrusted on some particularly difficult-to-reach parts of her body, “it can’t be comfortable.” His deep voice rumbles in its breadth, holding a wickedly playful edge that compliments the crooked smirk that twists his lips. Beneath the sun’s brightness, strong muscles brace him against the ocean’s push and pull, pale hooves anchoring him in place as the waves rise and fall from his chest.


“Speech.”

rohan