She’s sad, that much is plain to see. Echoes of his first meeting with Sabriel sound in his head, and Rafe watches this new mare carefully, curious for any sign that she, too, would be an enigmatic addition, only to pull a disappearing act as soon as she arrives. Her voice is raspy, and Rafe idly wonders if it is from disuse or a more natural tone for the mare. She’s a pretty enough thing, all fine desert bones and a grey-red coat he’s never seen before. Certainly enough to catch his eye - and with no interrupting, sanctimonious Peak mares about, it makes for an easier acquisition.
Rafe still doesn’t have this down to an art - he’s gone from near-force (Viveka) to polite invitation (Sabriel) and everything in between; however he does it, the mares he lures in from the Common never seem to stick around. Not like the lost souls who drift down to Salem and find themselves on his shores all of their own accord. Last time he’d tried the more laid-back approach, he’d been set upon by vultures - Joachim, the Peak. All manner of irritating folk. So he cannot delay here, but also has no desire to drag another hostile mare back home with him and upset the delicate balance that the Badlands has finally seemed to achieve.
He blinks at her when she asks if she can help him, and Rafe drawls, “You could tell me your name - I like to know that much at least before I try to tempt you back to my home.” If she is new to these islands, like he once was, perhaps she won’t understand just yet that the choice has already been made. Better to ease her into it, make her think this is her idea. He glances around them again for anyone looking to interrupt, and then looks back to the mare. She still hasn’t said anything, so he adds, “I’ll go first, then. I’m Rafe, king in the Badlands.”