Romulus was not left for long in the silence. As he wandered aimlessly into the depths of the Lagoon, footfalls alerted him of another, and he turned to see who had followed him. Out of the gloom came the enormous shape of the Lagoon General, a towering, quiet stallion who Romulus was familiar with but had never officially met. The grullo respected Tyr, but was not outwardly friendly toward him. In all honesty, Romulus had little care for the stallion’s title, or any title in the Lagoon, but acknowledged them for the sake of a peaceful existence. As such, he gave a curt nod to the General, but his stance remained closed off, his white face impassive.

You smell of death, Tyr informed him, and Romulus was surprised at the harsh bark of laughter that burst from himself. Does trouble trail at your heels?

“No,” he said simply, the laughter promptly dissipating. “My father is dead on the beach. He will not be following me anywhere, I suspect.” The feeling that coiled in his chest at the words gave a shudder, but did not loosen its tight hold on his heart. It was cold and hard as it clutched his insides, but instead of discomfort, it only caused numbness to spread throughout the charcoal stallion. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, and Romulus was grateful for the void it caused within him. He had never been good at processing emotions, but until now, he had also not experienced too much that needed processing. He had really thought Dexter’s death would mean nothing to him, and had in fact been expecting such an event for a long time. Even now, he wasn’t entirely sure that he was grieving, or if this cold snake that coiled about his insides was closer to anger than sorrow. His relationship with Dexter had never been good, but now it could never be fixed, and this was frustrating. Dexter had been a coward in his own way, and his act of dying in the ocean was, in Romulus’s mind, was the most cowardly act the silver stallion had committed.

Romulus was, deep down, disgusted. There were plenty of other emotions tangled in with it, but disgust was the dominant feeling, and disappointment was a close second. Romulus resigned not to untangle the others, at least for now; at least not while he had company.

He was sure the disgust was still evident in his expression as he turned his cold blue eyes back to Tyr, and he made no attempt to hide it, though the feeling was not directed toward the General. Romulus eyed the tall stallion with vague interest, though he could not bring himself to really want his presence here. Still, he did not mind it. Tyr was stoic and quiet, and his demeanor was not sweetened with unnecessary warmth, a fact that Romulus could appreciate to some degree. He supposed the shire stallion was one of the few who truly fit his title, and it seemed he did not have to try. His respect for Tyr was far more genuine than the other leaders, though this was not exactly a high bar to surpass.

“So,” he said finally, after eyeing the General for a long moment, his gaze calculating and not overly warm. “I suppose I should find something sweet-smelling in which to roll, to mask the smell of death,” he said. It was a joke, but a dry one. He suspected Tyr cared about as much for sweet-smelling things as Romulus did, which was to say, not at all.

Romulus