It seems as if his trips to the Commons are never-ending. Rafe won’t ever admit it, but he’s lonely in the ridiculously large, empty spit of land on Salem. Nyimara had departed after a delightful little dalliance, Viveka is hiding somewhere among the cliffs and doing a stellar job of avoiding him; Laika hasn’t arrived yet, if they’re even still planning to come. Rafe had told the previous residents to move along and they listened almost immediately. So, the Badlands are as barren of company as they are greenery or trees. Coming from a large, close knit family that all lived together, in a small territory that bordered brothers, uncles and cousins with herds moving freely it is a bit of a shock. He...isn’t adjusting well. Rafe is self-aware enough to know that. SO far, he’s only allowed himself to chalk it up to the deep-set fear of being alone in winter, no herd to huddle with or rely on, but he knows it isn’t anything so practical as that.
And so here Rafe is again, making the swim to the southernmost point of the Crossing Isle and skirting the edge of the Lagoon to slip into the Commons and wander, fruitless though it is; the longer he remains on the isles, the more he learns that mares avoid the Commons like the plague. They skillfully skirt around it, keping to the peaceful areas and taking the long way around to skip the appealing meadow where they’re most vulnerable. He can’t blame them, of course, but it does make his life that much more difficult. Rafe appreciates the expediency offered here - no need to sweet talk a mare, no need to sell himself or the land as an option. As long as he gets there first, he can drag whoever his hapless victim is back to his home and worry about building the relationship later.
Winter has come to the isles, and the already-cold ocean was freezing after his most recent trip; he’s salt crusted and his coat is freezing, puffs of breath steaming the frozen air in front of him. Best to get moving, so that he doesn’t turn to ice where he stands. There isn’t snow on the ground, but the once-lush trees are brown and shedding, and the ample grass covering the main area has faded to a dry, dead silvery hue. The Badlands gets cold, especially at night, but it isn’t anything like the biting wind in the Common. The sun still shines bright, he stays warm. Here, no such thing is true. Rafe shivers a little, but the motion is cut short when a striking, pale mare emerges from the beach and ambles into the meadow where he is tucked in amongst the trees.
She’s pretty, her pale coat and full, waving mane and tail practically glow underneath the moonlight. Rafe doesn’t see anyone else around, and so he doesn’t hesitate. He slips from the trees where he’d been concealed, and purposefully strides across the open space to stop in front of her. “Hello,” he murmurs. His blue gaze flicks appreciatively over the mare, and he teases, “It’s a little late to be out in the Commons alone, isn’t it? Good thing you only came across me.” Of course, if she’d come across a better stallion perhaps they wouldn’t claim her, but Rafe has no such hesitation. Perhaps a little more sweet talking this time than he’d tried with Viveka, but either way, the pretty, moon-pale mare in front of him will absolutely be gracing the Badlands with her presence, regardless of her opinion on the matter.