It has quickly been made evident that Rafe has been far too lax in maintaining a presence outside of Salem. He was so focused on warding off the Peak, on chasing out the Lagoon (child-thieves that they are) that he ignored the other herd stallions. He will not make the same mistake again. Fell, the silent oaf, has proven to be more than a minor annoyance. First his attempt for the long-gone Viveka, and then the raid. He’d come in the night, slipped in as silent as a ghost and made off with Mae. He still has no idea what possessed her to willingly follow but that is a problem for another day.

Rafe chased him down, followed him to the icy shores of Tinuvel. He lost the mare he challenged for, not expecting two stallions to be there, not expecting her to take the opportunity to flee as quickly as she did. He left, sore and cold, thin coat not suited for even summers on the Bay’s icy shores.
Instead of heading home, Rafe skulked about, asking after the shadowy stallion where he could. It seems he is not a thorn in only Rafe’s side; he’s challenged Zevulun. The idea of trying to ally with him is exceedingly distasteful, but Rafe will do as he must. Eventually, whispers sent him to Atlantis - a spat over yet another mare with a Queen there. It seems the more palatable destination, and so Rafe makes for the humid shores.

It doesn’t take long to find her, walking her border with a single-minded intensity he understands. Leaving the Badlands unprotected as he has is unfortunate, sets his teeth on edge and makes him eager to return home - but if he is going to destroy Fell, he will need allies beyond Nyimara and Marceline. Rafe is not unfamiliar with launching a war, and the most vital step is gathering support. Fell has attacked enough herds that doing so should not be hard. Concentrated raids, aligned battles - planting a pretty yearling daughter or two to destroy the herd from the inside out. All are options, and all need more resources than he can give alone.

The mare turns to him suddenly, hisses out a demand for his presence and Rafe stays silent for a few long moments, carefully taking her in. She’s slim and shorter than him, ghost-white and pretty. After so many years on these islands, he is more used to the reality of a female herd leader (and, quite frankly, has found them to be more effective allies), but there is still always an element of surprise in meeting yet another mare who willingly goes toe to toe with stallions. In another life, he would have considered it impossible - and perhaps, for mares raised in his homeland it was. But he idly thinks of some of his sisters, who would sooner kill an outsider than be stolen, and wonders if they were wrong. How much further-reaching would his father’s dynasty have been, if his sisters were allowed to rule? How much damage could they have done if they weren’t only driving choices as a whispered voice in the ear of a stallion chosen only for his brawn? He shudders to think of it.

“I hear we have a common enemy,” Rafe finally says to the mare, smooth words breaking the silence. “Fell,” he adds, voice dripping with disdain. “I’d like to rip his throat out; until that becomes an option, I’d rather thought we could sabotage the taciturn oaf.” He flicks a gaze around for anyone who may be trying to listen in and adds, “Shall we talk?”