Paladin's body was injured from the battle with his son, a battle that he was not in the mood to discuss. Any mention of the brutal fight between him and the boy was met with nothing but a cold stare of his usually warm crimson eyes. The stallion, like all bull-headed men, was working through the pain and heartache with an emotional war-ax and a trebuchet, laying waste to the carefully constructed sensations of family that had once lived in his heart.
Life was a bitter creature, capable of snatching away just as quickly as she gave. He had put so much faith into his family, so much of everything he stood for, and it vanished with the blink of an eye. Two daughters who waged war against their own, though he was curious why his herd fought and not Ktulu or Ophelia themselves. His brother...
Paladin shook his head, refusing to consider those thoughts at all. Mirage and this herd were his family now. Not only had they given him shelter, but they had allowed him to use his only skill of battling for the belief that now hung between his mind and heart by a thread: equality for all. The strong, older stallion was now as fragile as a piece of china, cracked by every whisper and memory of the passing days. He told himself he was strong, but the lie was so transparent that it blew away with a single breath.
Routine was the old warrior's savior.
Steady hooves traversed the lengths of the land's border religiously, and in this pattern, he found solace. In these lands, he knew the comfort of stability, a world without change. He knew the trees by the smallest nuances and the brooks by ear. He knew where the beaches would meet their forests to the south and where the cliffs would come to a disastrous and painful end. Though he did not know how his life had come to so much ruin, he knew this, and he knew it well. Routine and blood were his gods now - he had nothing else to worship.
Voices disrupted his peace, but they were not entirely unwelcome. If there was a job to do, then doing it would be a wonderful distraction. The scene he happened himself upon seemed almost comical. A mare was laying in a stream while another threatened a strange stallion who claimed to be of no threat and a healer offered help. Paladin furrowed his brows over his unsettling bloody eyes. The stallion in question seemed to offer help so quickly that the faint scent of the Basin seemed almost preposterous. Why would anyone from that herd come here so quickly after having been beaten? The logic did not make sense. Clearly this stallion was either a new recruit or simply a traveler from the north. The likelihood that he was from the Aurora Basin was simply too slim.
"Calm," the elder stallion commanded in a voice that was charismatic and deep. His body still told stories of his injury, and from the graying in his beard, around his muzzle and eyes and on his hind legs and hips, he was obviously older. A contrast was that he was still fit like a young warrior. He was not aging well - especially not after having put his body through so much physical hell.
"Healer, see if you can help the one trashing in the water," he said with a gently authoritative voice to Resplendence.
Paladin then turned his attention to the horned demon on their midst. "We do not so quickly welcome outsiders into our borders, stranger," he warned. "Why have you ventured here?" The cadence of his voice and choice of words spoke of a more chivalrous upbringing, something that mocked that thick scars on his body.
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