RUN AWAY WITH ME

Despite the obvious apprehension in the pale stallion’s words, Rohan laughs deeply, shaking his head and giving the other stallion a wry smirk. “I’ve been stuck with far worse, my friend,” he assures the fairy-winged man, many more than one memory blooming to the forefront of his mind. One does not make himself an accomplished bachelor without running into an occasional bad apple, after all. If nothing else, he is sure that Quentin will be a proper distraction from the turmoil that writhes within him, considering the pegasus entertaining (and, admittedly, slightly awkward) company.

Taking this as something of an acceptance, Rohan shifts his weight, gesturing forward with a curt signal of his nose. “We best be on our way, then. Wouldn’t want you to scuff a manicured hoof in the dark,” he teases the flamboyant stallion with a simpering twist of his lips, nearly rolling his eyes before walking forward. He hesitates at the edge of the clearing, looking briefly over his shoulder to the mares. “You’re welcome to join us, ladies,” he flicks his long tail in their direction, his invitation hardly serious. He doesn’t even expect an answer before he moves forward again, weaving through the woods of the Threshold with the pegasus beside him.


The journey back to the Edge seems a lot longer than when he had left it. Of course, he’s not charging in a blind rage this time, instead noticing the scenery and making what conversation he can with Quentin. Thick forests eventually give way to rolling hills, their softly cresting peaks illuminated as the sun rises and falls, before the familiar mists obscure the horizon. “There it is,” he gestures to the pixie man, “the World’s Edge.” And he does not know what it is that buds impatiently in his chest—a relief to be home? Or a dread to return to the root of the memories?

Whatever it might be, it is determinedly ignored, smothered beneath pale hooves as they close the remaining distance.

Thick, low-hanging mists reach out to greet them at the borders, seeping slowly from the trees within and playing with the shadows of dusk. The evening air is frosty, a telltale sign of the upcoming winter. Lowering his gaze, Rohan eyes the shards of glass strewn across the ground, remnants of a once-great glass wall (or so he’s been told). Side-stepping a particularly jagged piece to avoid snagging his skin, the Warlander looks to Quentin. “It used to be worse,” he says with a dry laugh, remembering his first time entering the Edge. The borders had been a disarray of broken glass; he finds it suiting that it has since been cleaned up some.

“It shouldn’t be long before someone greets us,” Rohan continues neutrally, swinging his antlered head around to its natural position. Further they press into the wooded land, circles of fog churning from the movement of their legs. His green eyes are cast idly about, almost searching for any sign of his superiors.


notes; Yay come welcome Mr. Fabulous!:D (first two paragraphs are finishing up the Threshold thread)
“Speech.”