They were discovered more swiftly than Varanduil had expected, though he hadn't been so bold as to assume they'd escape entirely unmolested. The first of their welcoming party was a massive thing; long-boned and thickly-curved with muscle, she descended on them like a black flood, broken only by the red pits of her flaring nostrils and the whites of her eyes as she surged at them, trying to separate them from their prey and simultaneously drive them together (the better to crush them under her heavy hooves, no doubt). Flickering and shuddering with adrenaline, Varanduil danced away from her, letting her chase him to the steps of the marble and gold temple that was Cullen. The very sound of her furious breath from her massive lungs was the sound of a mountain shifting, and he knew that rising to meet her would be a wave rising to meet the rocks: his fragile, swift body would shatter on her bones into so much broken spray- and yet he could not help a burning desire to do just that as she reared over them like a bear and her powerful blunt teeth snapped where his bronze flesh had been, a half a breath before.

To swell up against- and break upon- the cliff of her great ribcage would be a truly exciting end, and he vibrated with the desire to do it, rising up on the tips of his hooves again and again as she charged with little eager sounds, only restraining himself by the pulsing heat of Cullen's flesh bumping against his slithering side, reminding him that his objective here was Cullen's, and not his own. Drawing in a shuddering breath, he stole a glance away from the giant, even as a dark bay streak bolted at them from the corner of his eyes, the kladruber's thundering voice still vibrating in his lungs- he would have to trust that Cullen would be his shield for a moment, and the thought made his muscles tighten with fear and excitement- and hunted for the awkward trio his leader had picked. He spied Cullen's mare first, hurrying farther up the jagged peaks- pressed tight to her side was the little filly whose trembling warmth he could still remember at his elbow, quivering and uncertain. His golden lead seemed unperturbed at their loss, either too distracted to care (his glittering smaller body meeting both his opponents fearlessly tooth for tooth, and Varanduil found himself wondering, with a prickle of jealousy, how many of the raw pink scars sunken into his vulnerable flesh were the massive mare's doing, even as he himself struggled to keep out of her significant reach) or perhaps having never truly cared to begin with. Even so, Varanduil's skin was charged with an electricity of competing desires, and to let what Cullen had asked of him slip away so easily burned.

Behind the dark, feathered mare and her foal, the lean colt- the one who'd shuddered under Varanduil's black eyes and screamed at his soft, silky questions as if the bronze stallion had jammed a blade between his ribs- was a jagged flash of light and shadow on the rocks; not with them- not really.

Not with anyone.

-Teeth grazed the soft, flaring tip of his dark nose, and he jolted and lashed out and danced closer to Cullen, not even sure which of the surging dark shapes in front of them had done it, but his bright eyes shifted swiftly back to hunt for the young stallion on the peak, calling out to him in a voice clear and golden and sweet as pouring tokay,

"Pity feels nice, doesn't it?"

He jerked away from the shadow of some dark limb flashing toward him out of the corner of his eye, chest heaving and legs trembling with the urge to throw himself forward into the gnashing, thundering shadows of the two mares, though he knew they'd tear him apart like so many wolves on a fawn- and then Cullen would be alone with them. He stayed put, raising his voice to be heard over the snarling exchange of his company.

"But theirs will run out. When it does, you have a true home waiting for you." His leader's heart thudded against him when their sides collided, and he fought the urge to look over at him; fought the urge to do anything that would tear his simmering stare off the face of the lone colt, blurring between his white lashes. "I promise," he called, all silk and honey, though under the sweet nectar was an unmistakable quiver of hunger, "recognition feels better."