If you dig and pry deep enough, everyone has scabs to pick at - Rhaego was no exception. In fact he has had many, many scabs to pick at throughout his life; some small and others larger that cut much deeper. For some equines it was a most painful and regrettable thing to do - something they often thought they were prepared to face but really and in truth they were far from it. It sometimes took reality crashing down upon them to realize that beneath the scar, infection still thrived and festered. But to Rhaego they just itched. The darn things were sometimes the most frustrating repercussion of taking hits in a battle, other than the actual injuries, of course.

But fortunately, he'd not sustained any serious injuries in his clash with Chimera just earlier that autumn. Most of his injuries had been tender bruises and various cuts and abrasions from the bites and kicks that he'd received. They were now healed for the most part and itchier than ever.

The mealy bay dun stallion grunted in annoyance as he paused his grazing to turn and bite at one of these many itches, his ears laced flat. After making sure that he'd thoroughly satisfied the itch, he turned back around with a deep huff. The air was just cool enough that his breath misted slightly, a surefire sign that a frigid winter was just around the bend. Finishing chewing the wad of grass he still had in his mouth, the brute cast his attention idly across the rolling expanse of his home, dotted with trees and carpeted with rich, cool-season grasses. All was peaceful for the time, really too peaceful for his liking.

The handful of mares he'd regained were somewhere around, up to their own devices, he didn't really care so long as they remained obedient to him. None had been particularly near to him that he was aware of so it struck him as odd to hear the distant sound of galloping hooves. If he had not been taking the moment to glance around, he may have missed it in his noisy crunching while he grazed. But now, he paused, standing eerily still for a long, almost breathless moment - listening and taking deep measured breaths of the crisp air. Nothing more came, not even a scent. He could have easily dismissed the matter, because there was a decent possibility it was one of his mares - but having only recently settled back into his rugged mountain home, Rhaego would never be satisfied until he knew for sure who he had heard.

And so the stocky brute pushes forward in a steady, unhurried lope across towards the some of the higher ground nearest to the mountains and entrance. The brilliant splash of red upon a pristine white pelt caught his eye after he'd traveled a ways, and instantly his ears flattened and the large stallion lunges from the relaxed lope and into a quicker gallop, heavy hooves pummeling the earth and his ivory streaked mane catching the wind in his wake. The Swedish Draft barrels towards her, his powerful strides angry as he neared. "Who breaches... my borders... without call?" Rhaego's deep and guttural voice practically growled as he rocked to a choppy halt, heavy hooves slicing into the sod from the force of his momentum only a mere horse and a half length before the mare.