He has never known fear before. It is as if the storm has entered his body as well, charging his nerves with the same strange electricity, bearing all rational thought away in a gale-force wind. Fear, Rade discovers, is a cloying thing; it floods his lungs, thicker than the air he already has difficulty breathing. Suffocating him. A sudden flash of light cuts a jagged line across the brooding sky, followed by the rumbling growl of a leviathan from one of Debonaire's own tales. Dimly, through the fog of fear that dominates his mind, the stallion feels the pull of the river's current, the splash of water on his belly, and recognizes that he has overshot his goal. Rade's strides falter, his hooves scrabbling for purchase in the slick mud of the river. Too late. The bottom drops out suddenly, his head dipping briefly beneath the river's surface. Sinking its claws deeper into the scarred flesh of his mind, fear becomes terror, and instinct seizes control.

A memory of his mother speaks softly, reassuringly, in his ears, her voice as clear as it had been the day Neassa taught him to swim. Barely a week old, on legs that were still uncoordinated stilts, she had led her son into the sea, permitting him at first to hitch a ride with his chin resting on her withers. But then she had pushed her muzzle against his shoulder, forcing him gently away - he recalled all to well the burn of the first inhale of saltwater as he had been momentarily submersed. And the frantic flailing of his limbs as he had sunk into the dark, forbidding world of the sea. Then Neassa's soft, compelling voice, dispelling his panic. No, Rade, don't fight. You'll never win against the water - you have to work with it.

And so he does, angling himself with the current rather than struggling against it. By the river's side, Irina has veered away from him, but another flash illuminates her earthy form darting into a crevice, and Rade hastens to follow. Heaving his sodden form from the river, up the bank. Squeezing in beside her, his entire form quivering with a mixture of exertion and the remnants of his fear. Each flash and rumble of the storm is met with a particularly violent shiver. Though it is dry and safe here, it is impossible to forget the tempest that rages on outside this tiny, secure corner of the world. Slowly, however, the warmth and solidity of her body next to his grounds him, and his trembling eases. It is then that the woman speaks, and Rade's amber eyes rise to meet her piercing sapphire gaze.

“Rade.”

He manages to exhale in a soft huff of air, hesitating to entrust his voice to hold steady for more than that single word. But after a brief pause of what he imagines to be an expectant silence, he tentatively chances another word. If the circumstances were different, there would likely be a world of questions on the tip of his tongue, but for the moment he is too stunned to ask anything but the most obvious question of all.

“You?”

It comes out sounding more like a harsh grunt than speech, a strong contradiction to the normal honeyed tones that so complemented his golden coat.

stallion // mongrel // 15.1hh // 4 // palomino roan // reba
debonaire x neassa