A deep breath of the still chilly spring air fortifies Rhaego's resolve to remain silent as his bold gaze holds the golden mare firmly in his focus. His dark mahogany eyes linger almost irritably on the wings that she holds tucked to her sides, narrowing on them as he mulls over silent thoughts and memories of previous dealings with horses of her type - the feathered type to be exact. Yet he recalls a heated and intimate meeting with the winged mare alongside the lake a few years past in what had been part of Mist Meadows. The name she uttered in grief rang a distant bell that their coupling had resulted in a foal, bringing back the fuzzy memories of a bay filly with horn adorning her forehead. Though beyond that evening of the filly's birth, Rhaego did not recall much of his daughter, or of Rapunzel for that matter. There was one incident upon the day Rhaego had been tracking the ravenous canines that enjoyed lurking about his borders - having found the wolves prowling about a clearing, the mealy brute had let into the dogs with an explosive fury... ready to be done with them for good. However, he'd never anticipated a winged stallion to rush in, frantic for some reason about an unusual flower. Beyond the anger that a strange stallion had crossed onto his lands without warning, Rhaego had felt a tinge of that same perplexity he recalled feeling during his first meeting with the appaloosa dryad... but this time it was a flower which warranted such concern. Of course that had all been (partially) explained when a wounded Rapunzel had appeared from the flower but the concept of the ability the mare held still was foreign to Rhaego. And still to this day, he sticks with the idea that somehow he had merely overlooked her when first arriving to the clearing.

There had been many questions left unanswered since that day, yet in the unpredictable duties of a herd leader, Rhaego had been forced to focus his attention elsewhere and consequently had lost tabs on the mare. It had frustrated him that she had gone - and there was little he could do to remedy it so he did what he did best, he focused on the current events in the herd and focused on moving forward, not looking back. And so when the gilded mare speaks of the putting the past behind them and asking to live in the Dale once more, the stallion quirks an eye at her, silent for a moment as he contemplated his own words. At the mention of Flynn, russet lobes flick back and pin into his frosted mane with a snort. He judges the mare a moment more though, considering for a moment declining her - for what were the chances she'd only fly away again, yet the possibility of her staying was temptation enough. "You did??" Mahogany eyes trace over the radiant gold of her pelt as he speaks, watching her movements attentively - a note of intrigue hinting in his rough voice as he answered her, sensing a deeper meaning in her words.