The antlered stallion recognizes nothing beneath the mare’s soft, bashful smile. Like any young, testosterone-induced male, he takes only the surface of her actions—the clever coyness that tempers her white eyes, the modest tucking of her head—and snatches it all in his own self-righteousness.

Ignorantly and brazenly concluding that she is nothing short of smitten with him (because, surely, it could be nothing else), Rohan feels his brawny chest broaden with pride, the smirk on his lips lilting with satisfaction. He shifts his weight when she moves to seemingly accept his presence, both of them standing comfortably beneath the colorful glass of the pavilion’s roof.

However, his pride-ridden elation is short lived, dwindling like the thick pull of molasses between your fingers—slow, unwilling, and clinging onto its place in your hands. The bay mare does not respond at first, so he waits almost patiently, bright green eyes resting contentedly along the pretty curves of her face. Seconds pass and turn into minutes, and still the strange mare speaks nothing to him—at this point, it doesn’t take long for the awkwardness to settle in between them.

Rohan eventually allows his gaze to drift from his silent company, roaming idly along the ancient stone pillars, the hard flat floor, and even reaching beyond to where winter howls her strength mightily through the forest that trembles and grits itself against her cold fury. Of course, these are all petty musings. Meant to pass the time, focusing perhaps a little too hard on a particular detail of the Rotunda’s immaculate architecture—always hoping, waiting, and then begging that she will say something, give him anything.

To no surprise to himself, and perhaps a slight relief that he has not stumbled upon a muted beauty, the tension is cracked when she smiles. This one is bolder than before, conniving even, and he raises one side of his brow curiously. The stallion follows her gaze—outward, behind them, where from the blustery gales of Frostfall, a predator emerges. Rohan pins his ears instinctively, although his posture quickly relaxes when it becomes obvious that the wolf is hers—a companion, if he remembers correctly. They seem to be quite a thing around here…it is both strange and exciting to see the tales and legends of his homeland brought to life in this bizarre new world.

The bay mare’s witty warning brings a wry smirk from his lips, and he huffs throatily before speaking. “I hope for his better company, then. This is not an interaction that I’m particularly keen to be rid of,” Rohan’s green eyes rest evenly on the white wolf, not quite sure what to make of him yet, although his features soften into their usual mischief as his gaze slides back to the mare.

He gives her a smooth, practiced wink before dipping his head in a dramatic bow—his mother had always told him to be a gentleman, after all. “My name is Rohan,” he announces himself with a crooked smile, “I’ll admit you had me worrying there. No doubt a lady is incomplete without her guard.” His tail flicks around his flanks, his deep voice very much amused.


tag; @[Essetia]
“Speech.”

Lend me your hand and we’ll conquer them all,

but lend me your heart and I’ll just let you fall.

Lend me your eyes I can change what you see,

but your soul you must keep,

t o t a l l y f r e e.