There is a respectable distance between the two large stallions—likely a wise decision. While the Warlander is generally not an overly ferocious individual, he is not afraid of and will not shy away from physical violence, and there are moments that even he can’t control when testosterone rises and fuels his muscles with a fiery brutality that only a male could understand. Fortunately he does not feel this now (but anticipating the unpredictable, he remains cautiously vigilant, his muscled body not quite relaxing yet).

In any case, Rohan’s thoughts are largely elsewhere. He travels as he has done for the past season or so, with no particular destination in mind and simply following the movement of his hooves, but perhaps it is a little different this evening. It’s not only the liberal beckoning of Helovia’s wilderness that tempts him with her wilds—tonight the wild call of the unknown has company, a stranger that the antlered stallion is unsure he wants to meet.

He is running—and how long must he keep up the chase? How many months, days, minutes until history resurfaces from the darkest parts of his memory and runs him off his feet? He does not like to acknowledge the possibility of such things…he is more prone to bury it, smother it, forget it and overwhelm it with far more fantastical adventures (as has become his wont). Like the ominous echoing of a war cry, his pride swells to the challenge—confiding in him promises of a better future and a dissolved, forgotten past. If only it could be so easy, but he is far too proud to look past its deception.

He cannot run forever.

Flicking the length of his tail, thick and heavy with the lingering frost of winter, Rohan’s gaze trails to the mountains that rise along the horizon. “I’ve heard it is a prosperous place,” he murmurs, a spark of both amusement and indignation flaring through the depth of his voice. Indeed, he has heard many things concerning the Basin—both its flaws and its strengths. It is a top-heavy kingdom, all of its grand glory and temptation balancing on a needle of hypocrisy, corrupt in its bigotry. He waits for it to crumble, not because he wishes to see it, but because surely it must be so.

 “Breeds fine women,” the tiger-striped stallion continues on a friendlier note, the glint of his eyes shifting back to the winged stranger, “wouldn’t you agree?” Here is a topic far more comfortable between men, and it brings a light of mischief to his rugged features. Truly, many of the alluring mares he has encountered in his travels throughout Helovia have come from the Northern valley, and perhaps they might snag him yet. “My name is Rohan, by the way,” he speaks broadly, welcoming the other to do the same (or being subjected to the wilds of his imagination otherwise).


notes; I'm so so sorry for the crapiness of this, hopefully they'll get better x_x also, I left his reaction pretty general so you can respond freely with Caleb, since he has now actually joined the Basin haha.
“Speech.”

ROHAN
don’t get too close, it’s dark inside