Since the Grey had established themselves in the Foothills, business had picked up, though not in any particular manner that was useful to him. The bloody stallion was eager for blood and battle, having not been able to participate in the invasion himself. While loyal to the Grey, he was becoming restless, tired of watching tensions rise and simply wanting them to lash out. If he was being honest, the need for war and glory works like a drug, a panacea to the storm beneath the cold and cruel exterior, but being honest with one's self was better left for cold, lonely nights when little else could occupy the mind.
One such evening, Rafe found himself wandering to keep his eager body and armored mind distracted. A narrow path just outside the borders of the Foothills caught his attention, and he wound up the walk way with steady, solid steps, not a single rock causing him to falter. Muscles slid easily beneath his coat that seemed to steal the moonlight into its black and bloody depths. Eyes, icy blue and just as cold as the sea stared out from beneath dark sockets, scanning the horizon on instinct.
The seasons were changing. He could feel it acutely. Hairs on his body grew thicker and longer, and the nights turned almost frosty, especially at this elevation. A few, humid breaths of white puffs moved past his lips, defined faintly in the blackness as he crested the path and found his way onto the platform in the skies. Night seemed a perilous time to be in such a place with the sheer edges obscured by shadow and mist, but he reveled in the danger, the heart-pounding risk of being able to plunge to your death.
A deep breath told him that he was not alone, nostrils quivering in the air as the strange scent of another hit him, but she must be well hidden in the mist and of dark color. Rafe thought he could make out a vaguely equid shape, so he let out a deep call, altering her to his presence. He was not a complete ass. Well, maybe. Everything did have an ulterior motive. Once close enough to see, Rafe noticed her tension that coiled from her back to her loins, the frequent rotation of her ears and flash of eyes as they moved. Was she running from someone?
"Good evening," he rumbled, voice smooth like velvet with a masculine, charming tenor. The warmth in his tone was severely offset by the brutal iron cold of his blue eyes that seemed to swallow every ounce of good into a bottomless hole.
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