He had lingered longer than anticipated in the shadowy depths of the Deep Forest, spending the few dark, painful nights with the brown mare at his side. He would be lying if he said that he doesn’t enjoy her company. She is an amusing, sweet little mare with a stubborn streak nearly as wide as his ego (which is saying something) and she’s lucky he finds her stubbornness so entertaining. In any case, they travel together now, thick trunks gradually morphing into thin bamboo shoots. It is the distant cry of war that rouses Rohan’s attention from her, his large head rising before he picks up his pace (ignoring the protest of his sores) and angles himself through this strange land.
 
The echoing cries and snarls—sounds of battle—guide the large stallion forward, the breadth of his shoulders colliding against the skinny shoots of bamboo as he forces himself to something of a halt. Muscled hindquarters dip low to the damp earth even as his forelegs are raised in preparation to lunge, his green eyes narrowed and wild as he takes in the scene that unfolds before him. It is not unlike the battle of the Bear. A Helovian God—Goddess, he corrects himself, her body and very aura far too feminine to be mistaken otherwise—standing against some sort of monstrous intruder, surrounded by their masses of mortals.
 
Rohan hesitates only a moment in making his decision. He does not know this Goddess as others do—her treacheries, her deceits, every wrong thing that she has done—are all unknown to him. He only knows Helovia, his home, and its enemy, a threat to the very world he has come to claim as his own. There is no question in the battle cry that rises within his breast, swelling to invigorate his body and excite his veins with the pumping of adrenaline.
 
Tossing his head and releasing a snarling war call that rumbles from his throat, Rohan plunges recklessly into the fight. It is only after a stride or two that he glances around, wild eyes finding the petite brown mare. Adjusting his pace, he urges her to his inside (away from the worst of the battle) assuming that she does not thirst for it as he does, but he does not completely sway her advance should she plunge forward with him. Enna has every right to fight that he does, and he will not deprive her of that opportunity should she wish for it (not yet wary of the consequences, as others are). Meeting her eye in a fleeting moment, he gives her a mischievous grin before lunging into the fray.
 
Through his peripheral vision, the Warlander sees equine turning against equine, but his quarrel is not with them—not yet. His attention is only focused on the hulking, monstrous Wolf. With ears pinned against the back of his neck and his lips curling into a silent snarl, he doesn’t falter in his mighty stride. Lowering his large set of antlers and arching his thick neck, Rohan dives in the direction of the Wolf’s throat area, hoping to snag skin, arteries, muscle, or anything that would bring the beast down.


notes; TEAM GODDESS.
Ushering @Enna to his inside, Rohan charges into the battle. He focuses his attention on the Wolf, lowering his antlers and aiming to spear/tear/mangle/or otherwise harm the Wolf's throat.
“Speech.”