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

The slip of the mare’s expression, a fleeting glimpse of her astonishment, entices a deeper smirk to settle across the stallion’s brown lips. So—he has snuck up on her, apparently, and his offering of aid was not what she had expected to hear. Thick, cream tresses slap against his tough flanks, streams of water flying from the strands of hair as they rise momentarily from the foamy waters. It is true, Rohan would like nothing more than to help her wash the blood and muck from her sleek body, if only to feel her warm skin beneath his own, to close the distance between them and satisfy nature’s most primal needs.

Ultimately, it’s what he was created for, isn’t it?

Why the hell would he try to fight it?

A short silence descends between the two as they appraise each other, and the Warlander takes every advantage of the moment. Bright green eyes, shaded beneath the shadows that the summer sun throws starkly across his face, watch the winged unicorn with amusement, a fire smoldering beneath his pleasure (as hungry as always, hardly satisfied, ever desperate and wanting). She is a fine creature to behold (but then again, he has yet to be disappointed with the women of Helovia). His attention lingers for a moment too long on the shapely curve of her flanks, the gentle sway of her hips as she advances towards him, before her voice brings his gaze back to her face.

Her demeanor has changed by now—she has checked herself, fitted back into whatever mask she favors for this moment. One side of Rohan’s brow rises amusingly, but he doesn’t challenge her. Who is he to criticize? As far as she’s playing the game, casting the cards and picking up what he has dealt, he couldn’t care less about who she might be (perhaps a reckless and foolish notion, but he is far too untamed, far too driven to care for more than now).

Smirking as he arches his mighty neck, the large stallion does not shift his gaze from hers, watching as the sun’s light glitters from her uniquely-colored eyes. “My name is Rohan, I’m a warrior for the Edge,” he brandishes the title proudly, satisfied to finally be a protector of his home, even if the Edge has little ties to his heart. It has given him purpose, which has been enough thus far. “And you, sweetheart—” the Warlander continues, wondering if this particular vixen will honor him with a name, or leave her identity to the whims of his wild imagination “—who are you?” He shifts his weight a step closer, lean muscles bracing him against the push and pull of the tide.

Her final words linger to play with his thoughts, encouraging him to his own inclinations, believing that—perhaps—fate will have blessed him today. “No need to be miserable, then; I wouldn’t want a pretty thing like you to suffer,” his deep voice rumbles from his lips much like the ocean, rolling in a low tone that is nearly a purr, highlighting the impish spark that flickers brazenly through his eyes. Pushing boundaries, Rohan dares to reach out to her, seeking to close the distance between them. “Are these from the God battle?” His muzzle hovers at her shoulder, nostrils quivering as he feels the heat gathering between them.


“Speech.”

rohan