Róisín had taken to lurking along the edges of the Common lands throughout the fall season. Ostensibly, it was to garner more faces to bolster the Peak's dwindling ranks, but in reality it was because she needed a purpose. A task. A job to do that would do good for someone. Watching the Commons and making sure would-be claimers and rogue stallions were on their best behavior wasn't exactly riveting work, but it was at least more interesting than doing strength training on the Peak slopes.
The sight of a silver stallion driving a similarly shaped silver mare had Róisín loping into the Commons, intent on preventing the stallion from driving the sweet looking mare anywhere she didn't want to go, but a golden blur changed her course entirely. His acrid musk assaulted the dun's nostrils the same moment he screamed out his challenge, and her mind immediately flashed back to that day in the jungle. The fear that had rolled off of her in big acrid waves as she danced away from him, the tug of her tail in his teeth before she managed to slip free of him and retreat into the Ridge.
She remembered Hades. And Faolain. And her mother.
And she saw nothing but red.
Róisín wasted no time calling out. Nor did she puzzle over how he was still alive or where he now lived. She said nothing, only launched herself in his direction - the silver miscreant momentarily forgotten. Ahead, she could see the subject of Cullen's ire, although her tenancy in the Peak was not long enough for her to know who Khar'pern was. Her quick glance isn't enough to tell her much apart from the fact that the other mare is in good shape, and seemed confident of herself. If Róisín could dare to hope for anything in the moment, it would be that the gray would turn and join the fray. The little dun had grown in strength in strategy since the last time she'd faced down the golden villain, but Cullen deserved a thousand times the punishment that she alone would be able to mete out.
"You bastard," she growled beneath her breath as she came within striking distance. She didn't hold back or hesitate, but did her best to reach out and grab the fluttering flag of his pale cream tail the way he had hers so long ago. She wanted to get ahold of the tailbone, to grab something tangible, and then to abuse it like a handle. Regardless of what she had ahold of - whether it was the tailbone she wanted, the pale strands of his tail, or just her imagination - she did her best to slide to the halt, acting like an equine parachute to try and slow him down. It would either give the gray mare a chance to retaliate, or time to run if she so preferred.