Rhaego too had went through a lull in activity during the coldest months that year, though for an entirely different set of reasons than the dear little forest mare. The winter had been a time of healing for him and of simply laying low. Of course he kept up his patrols (or at least to the best of his abilities) - his ego may have been horribly wounded, but he was far too prideful to let any horse get the best of him here on his home turf, no matter the case. He just simply did not venture out of the Dale much, if at all; he kept his ambitions in check and local, within the herd. Hindsight was 20/20, because Rhaego could see now how he'd let his pompous confidence cloud his judgment last fall at the cliffs - resulting in the terrible and painful walk of shame home, beaten and bloodied from his fight with Ichiro. What was worse was knowing that his son nor his son's mother would be there when he returned - his heir in the making and his beautiful trophy of gold... gone. He'd taken time to reflect and stew over the defeat; however with time, he was less angry with himself and more angry with the pale golden king whom had bested him in ability and experience. Until that day, Rhaego had been the superior between the pair of them - proving the other stallion to have been negligent of his herd and duties as the leader he claimed to be.

The bay dun brute sighed heavily as he walked at an even pace through the trees that made up the great, dense forest in his home. His stride was much more balanced now, the limp he had walked with during the winter was hardly noticeable now and he moved with ease once more. That's not to say that it didn't bother him from time to time, the sensitive nerves in his left hind flank were still damaged and grew inflamed beneath the ugly dark scar if he overextended himself or occasionally when the weather changed. But he'd not let the tendons grow stiff from laziness over the spring and kept them exercised, so that now at home and relaxed in his patrols, he walked almost just as he had before the late autumn battle. However the mealy king had only been mostly healed when he'd been challenged, not once but twice during the spring season. A spotted stallion whom smelled of salt brine had the guts to try for Psychotic in the Swamp and when that failed, he sought to take her by force. And when that also failed, Rhaego (already being on high alert) had caught an older roan stud with the same salty scent in the midst of trying once more for the Gypsy mare, apparently encouraged by Rhaego's possessiveness of his mares. It seemed he had only a few weeks or longer to recover when another winged brute, this one black with white markings, decided to challenge for possession of the Dale. Though he'd proven to be victorious in each of those recent confrontations, it was taxing on a body, even one as strong as his.

Rhaego was a stubborn and prideful beast though. He refused to let anything keep him down... not when he had borders to patrol and mares to guard. He was well aware of the enticing scents that some of them still carried and was suspicious of other randy brutes would try their luck again. At least though, he didn't need to worry about one's womb being a target this season. The thought satisfied him immensely, placated the lusty beast within him. It had come as a pleasant surprise to him when she had dutifully allowed him to breed her and he had not argued a bit. He'd viewed her in a slightly different light after that, almost proudly, if it was possible for him to be proud of anyone but himself or his own bloodline.

It seemed ironic that with his thoughts idling straying to the strange little mare, which continued to puzzle and surprise him, when he suddenly heard a soft rustle in the trees ahead. Raising his large head instantly, he whuffed at the earthy air, seeking any strange scents... but then he caught a glimpse of a familiar woodsy color, blanketed in white. She blended with almost perfectly with some of the bark surrounding her and if the woods had not been so lush and green this time of year, he may not have spied her so easily. The hint of an impish grin cast upon one side his pale muzzle and he lowered his head to a relaxed level, plowing through a briar bush in order to change his path and amble towards her. "Aileen." Rhaego whickered throatily, meaning to draw her attention away from the leafy canopies. "How are your patrols?" He was oddly fascinated that she kept up a vigilant patrol of the forest as he did of the Dale, seeing as they sometimes bumped into one another like this in their rounds; it was certainly not a task that he saw many mares jump at the opportunity to do, but it made her unique.