Though she was generous with her words, the perlino had learned that sometimes there was more to be heard in Roisin’s silences. The beat of hesitation after he spoke did not last long, but he didn’t miss the way her eyes traced the Peak’s severe lines. The way the line of her lips thinned almost imperceptibly before they curled upward. He couldn’t know what she was thinking, but Iscariot knew that the dun’s thoughts ran deeper and darker than those that she’d chosen to share. And it worried him, this secret that he glimpsed behind her smile; reminded him too strongly of a day she’d curled against him and wept. Seeing Roisin so broken had hurt him, then— but worrying that she might be forcing herself whole for his own sake was a different sort of pain. The sort that could easily undo him.

Of course, Siobhan’s daughter was cunning too. Before he could probe more deeply, she headed off such somber topics with a quip that left him flustered. Turning his head aside so she wouldn’t see the telltale flush that reddened the insides of his pale ears, Iscariot grasped for a comeback of his own. Something that unbalance the ever-confident young mare, and turn her attention well away from his own shortcomings. Because it didn’t matter if there were a hundred mares here, any more than he was certain his presence would matter (or be welcomed) by them. A woman strong enough to call the Peak her home would not seek a mate in a creature scarcely capable of looking after himself. And he— he didn’t want that, either. The image of so many tiny versions of himself wasn’t the wistful dream she painted to him, but a nightmare. Because how many among them would suffer as he did every day— as he was now, hind legs trembling and aching more with every step they took?

Even one was too many.

"I don’t think Solomon himself could charm his way into the Vulcans’ graces," Iscariot responded wryly, swinging his head around to glance at Roisin again. "In fact, I think you came here to avoid him— and every other stallion," he teased lightly. And then, turning his deprecating humor inward, disguising the truth he knew his companion would argue as a joke. "And since I don’t count, you’re letting me hide here too. So I don’t present too much of a distraction to all of Atlantis’s self-proclaimed queens."

The warmth of his laughter was brief, broken quickly by the voice of the dark-coated stranger. Jerking back a single step, the creamy stallion yielded the spotlight to his younger companion, lowering his gaze in a deferential manner. The stranger was male and could not be one of the legendary women-warriors of this place, but his size alone commanded such respect. Particularly from a creature of as little consequence as Iscariot, who offered nothing in his presence here save the dubious pleasure of his company.

For the sake of being accepted, it was probably best to let them measure Roisin’s worth first— and to discover his own lack later, after she had already earned their regard.