The antlered stallion has hardly removed himself from the borders since she left.

Even in the rain he stands, with pale hooves seemingly bound to the earth, and green eyes brooding beneath the shadow of his brow. Their gaze is unusually dark and troubled, his typical mischief glazed over by the rioting of emotions that thrash and rebel inside of him. Ensnared in their greedy fingers, their dirty claws that writhe beneath his skin, he can scarcely stand still. If the grasses weren’t so thick and the mists so dense, then there would surely be a path worn into the ground—a testament to his pacing, his restlessness, his frustration.

WHY?! Why me?

Many times Rohan has screamed his questions at her distant ears, at the sky, at the world—at anyone but himself (because the weight of guilt is far too heavy for him to bear, and he shoves it aside with rage, preferring to cling to his anger instead). It is this burning passion that he is familiar with. Like a security net, he clings to it for safety, for escape—his whole life, the Warlander has wrestled with anger, dodging blame and wild, iron fists. He has not allowed himself to become trapped by his father’s filthy shame, and he’ll be damned if he allows this little mare to do just that! How can he be worrying about it this much, anyway?

Shoving a fore hoof deeper into the wet ground, the stallion grinds his teeth together and whips his tail, briefly disrupting the torrents of rain with long, unruly hairs. The silver mare’s clarion call couldn’t have come at a better time. He recognizes her strong, sultry voice the moment it pierces through the water, calling to him like a siren does a sailor. Clutching eagerly at her hook, Rohan pushes himself from where he had rooted, and makes his way quickly through the thick floods of heavenly water.

Unsurprisingly, Nyx proves easy to find. Beneath the swollen, impetuous clouds she stands, every bit a mighty warrior as she faces the battering storm with unflinching and poised confidence. “Nyx—you are as ravishing as I remember,” he offers her a coy smile, green eyes appreciating her toned figure, the supple curves of her body outlined by the bright flashing of bolts and clouds. Perhaps he takes her in with more fervency now, drinking in her distraction excitedly, feverishly. He couldn’t possibly deny her invitation.

Shifting his weight and snorting a spray of water with his breath, the Warlander tilts his head mischievously towards her, “Follow my lead, sweetheart.” Drops of rain trickle over his lips and fall from his chin, alighting his eyes as they hadn’t been before. In one motion—powered not by grace, but by his mighty strength—he leaps forward, pale hooves thrusting heavily into the ground, tossing up muck with every stride. Arching his thick neck, Rohan aims to spear the silver with the sharp points of his antlers. It is a brutish and blunt attack, but he doesn’t care now to think of tactics. He focuses only on the beat of his heart, the pounding of his hooves—hoping to abandon his haunting plights behind him.


“Speech.”
Attack: 1/3
WC: 535
OOC: Hope it was okay that I took the first attack!<3 I'm excited!

awake my soul