It is not the first time he has invaded another's home in the name of business. Rade has nothing to go off of but the shaggy black-and-white coat of the Lagoon's intruder, so out of place in the rising heat of summer. It is enough to point him towards Tinuvel, the only land still cold enough to merit such protection from the elements. Unfortunately, Rade's own winter coat has long since shed into the glossy, golden satin to which he is more accustomed; the cold pierces his skin like a thousand tiny daggers as he pulls himself from the arms of the sea and clambers up the rocky beach. There is no snow here, but also little greenery; the world before him is painted in varying shades of brown, as if the gods had run out of color after creating Atlantis and the other islands, and used the drab palette that had remained for Tinuvel.

At a steady jog, Rade heads inland, inhaling deeply of the brisk air and keeping his amber eyes narrowed as he searches for any signs of life. It is quite by accident that he happens upon the grulla mare - he has already determined the Inlet did not conceal the man he sought, and is traveling north, towards the Bay, to seek Soljor there. Weaving his golden form sinuously between the trees, Rade almost collides with the woman, whose dark hide has little more substance than a shadow in the eternal twilight of the forest. With a squeal of surprise he twists himself midstride, narrowly avoiding ploughing into the mare - and then he stops abruptly, turning his head to stare raptly at her retreating form.

He couldn't know her - and yet he does, in the iron color of her coat, in those familiar eyes his own had briefly met. He inhales again as he turns to pursue her, every other thread of thought, his original intent in this place abandoned - her light perfume confirms that she could not be Thane, and yet the similarities are too striking to be coincidence. Increasing his pace until he is running, Rade moves to cut the mare off, placing himself in her path as a living obstacle. His ears flatten reflexively, and fury hardens the soft, almost-feminine curves of his body - this mare may not be the swamp king, but she is someone close to him, a target for the bitter hatred that courses through him.

“It seems you're lost, girl. The Lagoon is most certainly not that way,” Rade says softly, though there is a dangerous edge to the words, to the way he begins to step toward her. This subtle warning is the only one the girl gets; Rade strikes swiftly and decisively, lunging forward to drive his chest into her shoulder, to clip the air in front of her face with his teeth. He intends to drive this descendent of his enemy back to the viper's pit where she had come from.

stallion // mongrel // 15.1hh // 5 // palomino roan // reba
debonaire x neassa