From somewhere, he hears voices, feminine and lilting and beautiful; the stallion turns his heavy head slowly in their direction. Gradually they become louder, and he curses this sickness as their soprano chimes resonate like carillons through his ears, resounding and echoing at a wavelength that is much too unforgiving to be comfortable. He clenches his eyes shut for a moment, gritting his teeth against the wave of pounding agony before shifting his large body to angle in the mares’ direction. “You’re very observant,” he says dryly to the striped mare, his brown lips twisting into a smirk at a mild attempt at humor.

His green eyes rise to her face, pale and delicate, framed with a dainty pair of wings—and suddenly, memories manage to weave through his disease-induced haze, clutching at details. The white of winter, a mass of bodies, the crackling of fires—and her. “Maren, isn’t it?” The Warlander muses, recollections continuing to dance through his foggy mind. He has an impeccable memory—particularly when it comes to females—and he remembers her specifically, simply because it had been her that caught his eye those many months ago. Distantly, he remembers following her to the fires, resting at her side among the others.

“I believe we met some time ago…at the Falls’ festivities,” Rohan fights stubbornly against the pain, his words more cut and slow than usual, although he manages to give her a crooked, almost playful grin. “Don’t worry, I won’t fault you for not remembering,” a low chuckle rumbles through his broad chest. Lowering his head a few degrees beneath the weight of his antlers, the Warlander shifts his attention to the other mare when her command trills through the warm air.

His thick neck arches as his head is pulled into his chest, intending to follow her instruction with a firm gritting of his jaw, before something else creeps in. The scoundrel’s voice twists his gut, sending a new wave of pain lancing through his abdomen, but Rohan clutches at it, allowing it to ignite his simmering anger. “Ah, Misael,” the name is spit from his tongue in a low hiss, burning like bile at the back of his throat. The antlered stallion raises his head proudly, green eyes narrowing as he fixes the colorful buffoon with a venomous glare. “Come to mangle more dead fillies’ corpses?” It is a cold and bitter accusation, one without mercy, “I’m afraid you’ll have to look elsewhere for that.” The length of his thick tail lashes about his flanks, biting at the scabbed, cracking skin of his flanks.

It is only when the glowing blossoms begin to bloom in the mare’s hair that he tears his gaze away from the other stallion, one of his rimmed ears rising in interest from its flattened position. He’s never seen such a thing before. Watching the shining balls of light closely, his curiosity intensifies when they move, floating from the flowers to him—and his skin delights in a warm, pleasant sensation where they touch him. Broad shoulders lifting in a long sigh of relief, he closes his eyes in bliss as the pain is chased away from his body. Humming his pleasure, he glances to his wounded hips, where they are all but healed now, thanks to both hers and Enna’s efforts. The only other evidence of his suffering is the dried blood below his ears, where it had before trickled.

Looking to the ivory mare, he gives her a wide, crooked smile. “Yes—thank you, sweetheart,” his deep voice is a purr of satisfaction, and his relief is nearly overwhelming—even the presence of that animal doesn’t dampen his spirits now. Shaking out his long mane in cascades that billow over his neck and around his face, Rohan rests his weight more comfortably (content now to freely enjoy the lovely mares’ company).

Sparing his attention only for the ladies, a hard rumble of laughter rolls from his throat at the little white mare’s enthusiastic explosion of questions. “Other than the fact that it was like hell ripping me from the inside out?” He tilts his head sideways and peers at her with wry amusement, one side of his golden brow rising beneath his forelock. A huff of breath escapes him before he continues. “I think it was some sort of parasite, in the gut,” Rohan presses his lips together, remembering the festering that had agitated his abdomen, sure that he had been invaded somehow, “but the throbbing headache was the worst of it.” He nods once absentmindedly, appeased now to be rid of the wretched sickness.


notes; Sorry for the wait! I wanted him to be able to react appropriately ^^
“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.