Like the predator he is named for, Rougaru jumps to the chase readily, eagerly. Not seeking to overtake the gazelle-like mare in a sprint, but committing to patience as a means to claim his prize. In the end, however, it is not endurance but guile that secures the Wolf-King’s triumph. And yet you are content to belong to Cain? I see no difference. Hearing the stallion’s name was a blow as powerful as any kick, and with the jagged edges of Rougaru’s accusations… Chelle felt her heart tear beneath the ruthless cruelty of her captor’s words, felt the breath squeeze from her lungs. And though she neither stopped nor slowed, her strides faltered enough that she soon heard the sound of the silver bay’s heartbeat, felt the wind of his breath fluttering the auburn strands of her tail.

And then a sharp tug of pain at its root to echo the one still pulsing through her chest.

A child’s game you play. The chocolate stallion’s voice teases Chelle, his laughter ringing mockingly in her ears. But even through the continued burn of her anger, the amber tobiano recognizes that there is more to Rougaru’s words than the proposal of a game. That everything from his false civility to his attempts to provoke her has been calculated with some unspoken purpose in mind. And as she thinks wistfully of the honesty and openness that Cain has always offered her, Chelle remembers fragments of the conversation they’d shared with Cove’s ruler. ...maybe you'll abuse her in other ways. Maybe you want to see what kind of foals she makes… In the time she’s come to know him, the piebald stallion has proven himself above Solomon’s accusations. But Rougaru— Rougaru—

Rougaru is fortunate in his decision to fall behind the freckled girl again. Because without warning, her hind legs snap upward, punching the air where the stallion’s jaw had been only moments before. Wild-eyed and wild of thought, Chelle nearly pivots to face her pursuer, to fight him. But she doesn’t hold even the slenderest hope of beating him, and is terrified of what might follow her defeat. And so— forcing her fear and anger and grief deep down inside herself— the red-gold woman runs faster still, swerving as if to make for the sea. Glances over one shoulder, to measure the distance that stands between her and the silver-haired stallion.

And then twists her body around lightning-quick, darting into the trees and disappearing into the jungle’s darkness.