For all his griping about the Badlands, one thing he does not miss is snowy winters. He’s ventured to the Crossing isle again, haunting the Common as ever. Rafe skulks around the wooded edges of the open meadow, although the barren trees offer little camouflage against the sea of white. His bold bay coat sticks out like a sore thumb against the fresh snow blanketing the landscape. There’s an appeal to fetching mares from the Common- not simply because it takes all of the effort out of it, but because it silences the warring instincts within him. The voice of his father, ever-critical and urging him to take more, to demand what is his right - power, land, mares, allies and damn the consequences is directly conflicting with the soft voice of his mother, urging him to open his heart to love, to seek a family and build a new life here. At least in the Common, he can justify not even working to tempt the mares - anyone wandering through this part of the isle knows just what they’re getting into. And the one curious little roan he’d happened upon who hadn’t, Laika, was sent along with a polite invitation to the Badlands and not a claim to be seen.
So he doesn’t exactly feel guilty that so far, his herd is comprised of less-than-willing mares and the few stragglers left behind by whatever stallion led before him - Ajnur? Roheryn? He’s heard multiple names at this point and doesn’t really care to keep them straight. Since washing up on these backwards, godforsaken islands Rafe hasn’t found a single mare worth working towards - Nyimara, perhaps, but she comes with her own set of challenges and some rather large red flags. He doesn’t feel guilty, but he does, perhaps, feel some regret. Or loneliness? Whatever the name for the emotion, he’s unsettled and still actively seeking….something to soothe his restless soul. Companionship, if he had to put a name to it. Someone with him because they want to be - a confidant, a friend, perhaps even a lover; right now Rafe would settle for willing company and unforced conversation. He misses his sisters, his cousins, his brother. But because he is willfully avoiding the needed self-reflection and rather lazy on top of being emotionally out of touch, he has sunk back into predictable patterns. Hence, the skulking about the Common so he’s poised to drag another mare home with him, repeating the same doomed to fail behavior.
Rafe has just about given up, tired of fighting through the frozen snow and dreading the exhausting swim home when he sees her. Bold and black with a strikingly white mane, and her coat shot through with the most fascinating white patterns he has ever seen. At first he took it for snow stuck to her sides, but as she moves the white flexes with her body and does not fall. When he first spies her, she is elegantly picking her way through the forest before she breaks into a run, seemingly unprompted. He follows behind, not even pretending to be casual or coincidentally heading in the same direction. Rafe’s icy gaze falls on her when she stops in the middle of the meadow, sides heaving. She looks around almost expectantly; as if she’s accepted her fate and dares someone to come to her. He doesn’t hesitate, slipping from the trees he had been resting in and approaching confidently.
“Hello,” he murmurs. She stands taller than him, a fact he has long resigned himself to being all too common, and Rafe glances over her form appreciatively before he speaks again. “If you’re running from anything in particular, I’d be happy to hide you away. It doesn’t get much more remote than the Badlands.” Plus, no dreadful winter. He can’t exactly use that as a selling point until he knows how she feels about snow, but it has lately been at the top of his list for ‘the only positive things about Salem’. “I’m Rafe,” he offers after a few long beats of silence, and then doesn’t press her for anything more. Perhaps a bit of conversation that isn’t laced with insults will let her handle the reality of his claim better than Viveka ever did.