Whether it is only because of weariness or more deeply rooted reasons, it doesn’t take long for Rohan to notice changes in the golden mare. She is quieter than she had been before, less animated and not as coquettish with her gestures, the wily gleam in her eye that had haunted his dreams now muted (perhaps nearly distinguished beneath the bruised injuries that stamp her skin). However, the Warlander doesn’t allow himself to wallow for long in his pining of that gilded enchantress. The gods only know what she has endured in the months that have passed, and he likes to think himself optimistic, accepting what he can.

His brown nostrils quivering softly, Rohan presses his whiskery muzzle to her own, their breaths mingling in the warm summer air. Given her current state—colored much more grotesque by blood that is not her own, a fact he has yet to discover—the stallion half expects Rexanna to remain on the ground. Surprise flickers briefly across his rugged features when instead she rises, pushing herself up on shaking legs before steadying herself. The Warlander hovers for a moment, ready to come to her aid should she need it.

“Really?” He muses with a low rumbling of his voice, his green eyes skirting over the dried blood before trailing to her face. There is a ghosting sense of fascination mingled with the bewilderment of his tone, his thoughts running away with what Rexanna must have done to become coated with the blood of another (and a lover is certainly not among his fascinations). “I’d hate to see what the other guy looks like then; become a heroine, have you?” One side of his brow rises in amusement, a rascally flicker sparking through his eyes.

A dark-rimmed ear slants forward when the mare continues, an ease of comfort sweeping over the stallion’s bearing with her playful tease. “Indeed,” his unruly forelock dances as he shakes his head, entwining in the lower parts of his antlers, and a deep chuckle vibrates through his broad chest. “My wanderlust still lingers, but I’ve managed to join a herd now—the World’s Edge. I’m a warrior, a protector,” there is a trace of laughter that lingers in his voice. The Edge has done enough for him now, but he is far from satisfied—the wilds of Helovia still call to him, tempt him, and he is far too reckless to try to resist. Still, it gives him purpose, a duty, to be in a herd (a desire he hadn’t known he had).

Shifting his weight, the Warlander peers at the golden mare. “And what of you, milady—” the endearment is said with a playful mischief, too saucy to be very chivalrous, “—how have you been? Aside from providing yourself with a new color, that is.” Rohan’s crooked smirk returns to twist his lips, a light of mirth dancing in his green eyes. Of course, the large stallion has no idea what dark corners he might be delving into here, too caught up in the simplicity of the question and flirting hunger in his male mind.


“Speech.”

     RUN AWAY WITH ME
lost souls and reverie; running wild and running free.