Rhaego had enjoyed his five years of being completely reckless and being free. Even as a colt he'd been exceptionally audacious, never staying in one place for too long of a time without causing some sort of ruckus among the herd and other foals - always snooping, fighting, and being an overall menace to his herdmates and guardians. He was as bold and self-entitled as they came - a royal pain for the mare that was his foster mother, she was constantly apologizing to the her friends and the lead stallion, always trying to set one of her son's messes straight. Young Rhaego had never cared much for his foster mother, not at all. She was a slight little thing, delicate and fine-boned, and neither looked nor smelled a bit like him. Though she was virtually the only mother he knew, Rhaego was sold that there was never a chance that such a simple and plain mare had given birth to him. Yet not only that - she was pester some too, always telling him what to do, who to apologize to, when to sleep - everything! And though she meant well for her son, the pretense was all wrong - she wasn't his mother and he simply wouldn't let her forget that.

In hindsight, Rhaego knew that he'd been acting out so much to simply cause the mare trouble in spite of the unfortunate circumstances which had left him in need of her care. But if he had to live his foalhood out for a second time, he wouldn't have treated her any differently. It felt just somehow. If she'd truly be his mother, parenting him shouldn't have been so difficult for her. But as all colts grow and mature into stallions, Rhaego was one of which whom did not linger in the herd. There'd been no need for the lead stallion to chase him from the territory, for as soon warm weather had rolled around, the burly yearling had chosen to set off on his own. He'd spent some time with a band of bachelors and then a shorter time as a rogue before finding the Forbidden Dale nestled within the misty mountains and valleys.

It was a change - that much was for sure - but the brute had decided that since no one was trying to tell him what to do, he could grow rather fond of the herd life. Even as the cold breath of winter settled across the foothills and the greenery faded into the duller and drab hues across the slopes, Rhaego was proud of his home. Prouder than he'd like to admit on any personal level, but it showed as he made his routine rounds to check over his quiet home to assure himself that none of the borders had been breached and that the two doves remained content and unharmed under his protection. His steps were quick and energetic moving across the frosty ground at a swift walk from the far eastern portions of the Dale and nearer to the center of the territory, moving west towards the base of the mountains.

The early winter air chilled his hide and stung at his face, but he continued on seemingly unaffected by the temperature. His mealy bay dun pelt had grown out in the recent frosty weather to the point that it was almost wooly, a textbook example of the heavy winter coats characteristic of his Swedish Draft bloodlines. Yet the dense russet and cream coat failed to hide the sheer and athletic power residing in the burly body of the stallion, the muscle and the bone mass that powered him almost gracefully towards the long lake that stretched through the largest valley in the foothills. He approached at attention, dark mahogany eyes shifting sharply over the terrain for the figures of his two mares.