For a moment, it seems as though the mare hadn’t heard him (because that is certainly the only conclusion, as fickle as it might be, that would explain why she does not turn to him initially) but his lips freeze beneath her stare when she at last graces him with her gaze. Her blue eyes, as frozen and empty as ice, shine coolly beneath the moon’s incandescent light. Rohan shifts beneath the weight of the silence between them, exhaling from his nostrils in a haze of vapor and watches as it frames her face—so beautiful and so cold, he feels intrigue when he should feel doubt.
 
Her body moves even though her eyes do not, and he waits, knowing that she will not leave him now (as much as his fitful, confident mind could understand). The answer she gives him is simple, direct, and detached—not unlike her expression—and suddenly he sees the irony in her bearings. A deep chuckle rumbles in the large stallion’s chest, the sound warming his body where her gaze had frozen. “No?” He plays gently, glancing at her from beneath his brow, “Then I suppose that makes one of us.”
 
The length of his thick tail (so thin compared to hers) whisks about his lower hocks, and his eyes trail momentarily through the forest. There is a lightness in his voice, his demeanor, not willing to admit even to himself the gravity of his statement, but the images of his dream linger to haunt his mind, jarring him. Is he lost, when he had run to be found?
 
Brushing away the severity like a fly on his flank, the antlered stallion shifts his weight closer to the blue-marked mare, as if the proximity of a woman would ease him (as it has done many times before). “My name is Rohan. Care to indulge me with your own?” He gives her something of a crooked smirk. Of course, if she is unwilling, he will not test her secrecy—he can leave many things to his imagination.
 
It is a familiar voice that then draws his attention out towards the snowy woods, green eyes sparkling as they glance down to the petite brown mare that has wafted to his shoulder. He almost doesn’t recognize her without a dramatic entrance, and his brown lips warm to a boyish grin and the vibration of his laughter sounds in his chest. “Don’t look so disappointed, sweetheart—I’m sure you’ll throw yourself at me again,” he gives her a teasing wink, somehow comforted by her closeness, her familiarity, when pictures and accusations insult him in their persistence.
 
“Yes, welcome,” Rohan adds to Enna’s greeting as he shifts his attention back to the strange mare—so fascinating and cold in her emptiness—his eyes narrowing slightly before his typical smirk returns to his lips. “I don’t imagine you’d prefer to spend the night alone?” He asks her, his voice lilting as he plays with the line between jest and suspicion, “No need to worry, I don’t bite too hard.”


 
notes; Ew I'm sorry x_x but hey! I can see the board finally!:D
tag; Ahvelyn & Enna
“Speech.”