Common

Rage still boiled beneath his skin after the encounter with Rille on his own shores. He had known that the Luthien stallion would come for his mare at some point and time, but he never expected him to be foolish enough to attempt and take more than his fair share. He had seen him back to the sea with all the swiftness and hatred that the wolf could bundle into one quick attack. However it is not enough. The Peak mare's theft of Vanya still weighs heavily on his mind. No sooner had Rille's bobbing head disappeared over the cresting seas, does Rougaru find himself charging towards the opposite side of the island. The salt water stung the fresh wounds that littered his shoulders and neck. Teeth clench as he forces the thoughts behind him and instead focus on the task at hand. He would not let the thought that the wolf of paradise had gone soft whisper across the islands. This would not be the end of him or his legacy.

Weary hooves drag his sodden form from the shallow surf. Nostrils exhale a sharp breath of salt water as the great stallion pauses on the wet sands to give his wet hide a quick shake, attempting to rid as much of the salt water from his skin as possible before it had a chance to dry and crust along his frame. Muscles screamed for rest but Rougaru dare not listen, not with the wolf still reeling beneath his skin and whispering inaudible growls into his head. Its piercing yellow eyes lit the darkness that had slowly built up within him. The beast was on edge.

Hairs prick along his spine as the scent of salt water fades from the tiny wet hairs of his nostrils, opening his senses up anewed to the world around him. Blood. The metallic tang is all to familiar to him and the beast alike. At first thought he wanted to imagine it his own, but the wolf knew better. The sweet scent that encompassed the odor was feminine, and the rising hackles demand the mahogany dragga to turn and survey the scent that lay before him. Sharp eyes note the scuffle of earth, the noteable hoofprints left in dry sand. Splashes of red brown blood mingle here and there, not enough to make the Jungle beast imagine he tracked after a doomed creature; but enough to make him certain that someone might be need of help.

Ears twitch amid the water-logged tangle of cream and caramel mane. The graveled voice is close. A tentative nicker rings from his own lungs in response as suddenly his journey to the Peak is forgotten. Dark emerald green eyes scan the trail before him until sights fall upon a pale mare curled in the tall green grasses. For a moment he pauses, the wolf too alert with pointed ears at attention. She seemed in pain, or at the very least, as if she were attempting to recover from an accident or injury. He had come upon many a mare alone in the meadow, or in the company of others but never, never had he come upon one so visibly disoriented.


He closes the distance between them with thick skull lowered and ears alert for the sounds of predators that no doubt lurked in waiting. The scent of blood was alluring to the wolf, no doubt there were others that would find the same scent insatable if the great stallion would simply leave her alone in her weakened state. However the guardian in him prevailed and he pauses just away from her. He stays close enough to aid her should she wish to rise, but far enough back that if danger did manifest itself from the shadows, he could dismantle it without risking further injury to the pale woman. "I am here..." he murmurs, shaking his head to rid his vision of the troublesome cream strands of his forelock. Paper thin nostrils flare, inhaling her sickly sweet scent once more. Brows furrow, "Are you okay?" he asks, genuine concern coloring the usual gravel in his voice.