Tensions were on high alert as the stranger withdrew themselves from the shadows and into his line of sight. Darkness now fully cascaded over the realm, the full moon casting a silver veil across the landscape and leaching color from everything it touched. Liquid moonlight illuminated the aureate stallion's glossy pelage just enough for Ascendancy to make out his facial features as well as the amber coloration of his fur. But as dark irises scanned the stallion's silhouette he was perturbed by the vibrant gleam of his emerald optics. Never before had he seen such a spectacle. He knew that equines did, on occasion, have light blue eyes and sometimes ones with irises emblazoned the color of light amber, but for him this was certainly a first.

Long, unruly tail swatted actively at his flanks while Ascendancy scrutinized the palomino as words fell from his lips. Calm down? Was he being unreasonably on edge considering the actions leading up to that moment? The stallion before him had no idea. A deep, gravelly snort erupted from spacious nostrils and hastened into the air with a thin, wispy puff of steam. His aft leg pulled taut, hoisting off the ground for a brief moment only to come crashing down in a forceful manner against the arid earth below. He chose to ignore his previous lyrics as he parted his charcoal kissers, allowing words to be formed and leaving very little idle time to separate Torasin's speech and his own vocalisms. "Where am I?" His voice was firm, though not demanding. He knew this wanderer desired only to help him (or at least that's how it appeared) and so it would likely prove useful and assistive to his own well-being to display some amount of cordiality toward him.

A mare arrived then, black in color, though some extent of white flecked the upper part her haunches. Though his eyesight was growing indistinct by the instant, he could still manage to make out that much. Lobed ears percolated atop the pinnacle of his head as her feminine voice tickled his eardrums. She seemed to possess a better understanding of the severity of his wounds, mentioning something about a healer, which sounded quite appealing to him at the moment. His dark hide crawled with the inexorable stinging received from the countless scrapes that vitiated his pelt. Blood adorned his fur in large proportions, the dim light making the crimson liquid glisten an eerie shade of diluted russet as the moisture was slowly removed. The worst of them all was without a doubt the abrasion on his girth, which ached brutally even with the smallest of motion. The blood originating from it leaked down his leg, and the pungent aroma was unpleasant as he inspired another breath of air into his body.

Though he was hesitant to admit it, even to himself, it wasn't without some amount of wisdom that she stated that his very life threatened to depart from his body if the laceration was not tended to. Of course he knew this from witnessing it first hand. Many times had he seen the devastating affects the blade could deliver to the equine and human body alike. Being a horse of war, gashes and gaping wounds were not a foreign domain to him. Blood was a precious fluid, and when one was relinquished of it in an overabundance, it did not affect the body kindly in any shape or form. In fact, the amount which had been confiscated from his injury was beginning to take a toll on Ascendancy's consciousness. He felt weaker; vertiginous, despite standing rather statuesque in the presence of the equines before him - or trying to at least. His armor suddenly felt tremendously more heavy on his face, weighing it down to an uncomfortable extent.

Legs that once were strong and fortified began to tremble beneath his weight, and soon he conceded to their wishes. Outstretching one leg, he shakily lowered the other to the cool earth, then replicated the act with the opposite limb, resting upon sore, overutilized knees. Breathing was laborious, deep chest heaving drastically as his lungs implored for oxygen. His body had been pushed to its extent, his muscles sore, tendons and ligaments tender and overburdened. He hadn't realized any of that, not until now, as the adrenaline retreated from his system and was fleetly substituted with fatigue and weariness.

Exhaustion washed over his body like a violent ocean wave, splashing up in the stallion's face about as subtlely as a bucket of ice water. Eyelids suddenly grew very heavy, menacing to shut closed and allow sleep to creep forth, but he fought off the fatigue as best he could, for he knew if he allowed slumber to seize his consciousness odds are his eyes would never again open to the world.

"Ascendancy." The raspy, masculine pitch of his voice lacked its usually luster as the name poured like gravel from ragged lips. "I am a warrior of Aretha." Or "was" would be more accurate now, he supposed. He had fled in the face of terror, when throughout his entire life he had been taught to be steadfast and unwavering. He yearned to go back to his homeland, to his brothers, to his fellow warriors, but in his heart he knew he may never again be able to. He dreaded to know what they would have to say of his cowardice if he were ever to speak of his plight, and decided being assumed dead was far more appealing than any such fate.

Perhaps this was the beginning of a whole new chapter in his life.

His thoughts were disrupted by a sudden aching pain that deluged his mind followed swiftly by profound vertigo. For a moment his vision was blurred, obscured by a haze of blackness and then confusion. He recovered as far as his body would allow, and continued. The lyrics of the mare's voice were difficult to discern, but he eventually managed to do so, his reply coming delayed and with hesitation as so much plagued his thoughts it was hard to articulate the words. Still, he understood the importance; recognized the mare's intentions, and therefore complied. He considered his answer. What real family did he have?

His family was his fellow warriors. There was his mother and his father, of course; his blood brother, Adalricus, though they were hardly close. He had foals, somewhere, though many of them were unknown to him as pathetic it may sound. Thrystan. "I have a brother: Thrystan." It wasn't entirely honest. In a biological sense, he would be lying, but did that even matter now? In the sense of comradery, it was the indelible truth. Thrystan was his closest friend, and might as well have been his brother. He was closer to him than he ever was to Adalricus.

"Where am I?" He asked again, the urgency in his voice growing more intense. He wanted to know, even in this desperate hour. His movements were diffident, each stride occupied with a drastic limp. 'Where are we going?" The support of the two at his sides released an immense burden, but it still required quite a bit of energy just to speak in an intelligible manner. Had they not arrived when they did, he would likely be lying in the dirt, life slowly oozing from his hemorrhaging anatomy. He was aware of this fact, and although it was a mare, he undeniably owed her, both of them actually, whatever the debt may be. He would worry about it later, of course.