It’s always terribly interesting to see just what sort of riff raff the Crossing draws in. It is so centrally located that every manner of equine stops here on their travels, making for a great place to get a better grip on this strange new land he’s come to. The Commons tend to be Rafe’s favorite place to idly observe, tucked quietly back in a corner as his sharp blue gaze takes in the scene before him. He’s far north today, opposite his own home to the south, but it’s been a long day of wandering, and widely unproductive. Scattered pockets of couples are spread across the meadow that makes up this part of the island, the bold few who wish to be here evident in their proud bearing and bold positions out in the open. Those like Viveka, the less fortunate who are stopped on their way to safer land are also plain to identify - tucked away at the edges, hiding as much as they can and responding to any approach with flinching body language, the reluctant submission that follows pointed words.
What has caught his eye today is the crumpled, blue-black form of an equine spat out by the ocean. Every move they make looks painful, fighting against gravity and their own weight to stumble on dry land where they almost instantly collapse. Rafe watches on, idly interested in the scene; he isn’t the sort to rush over and offer to help, or even to point out the predicament to others who may be more inclined to get involved. After a few long moments, the equine doesn’t seem to be moving so Rafe shrugs and moves along, venturing further into the Commons to see what trouble he can stir. Unfortunately, the answer seems to be none today. Everyone is spoken for already, and there isn’t a single soul here he feels moved enough to try and pick a fight for.
Interestingly enough, when he makes it back to the beach, the blue roan who had collapsed there in such a seemingly finite way is gone. Rafe glances around, ears pricking forward before he spots the other, not far from the beach and tearing desperately into the last of the autumn grass at their feet below. Rafe takes a half-step forward before pausing; he really should get back to the Badlands, keep a close eye on his own personal little strip of that hellish desert island, but he’s fascinated despite himself. Well, a few more hours can’t, can it? Besides, whatever sort of equine can stand up after looking so ragged is one he certainly wants to know; life in the Badlands isn’t easy, and he needs to be….judicious in his choices, lest he have herd members dropping like flies. The thought of the inconvenience alone has him shuddering, not to mention the idea of the reputation he may gain. It’s difficult to build a herd if everyone he drags home dies shortly after. Rafe approaches the other equine, gaze assessing, and stops a few feet back from where they graze. “I thought you were dead, with the way the ocean spat you out,” Rafe states. “So imagine my surprise to find you standing.” He curiously glances over the roan in front of him and asks, “Where are you going, then?”