Rougaru never expected to find a common interest in a mare of the peak. They stood for everything he and Warsaw fought against. Now grant it Warsaw was a bit more passionate about the matter than Rougaru himself, still, he had pledged his loyalty to the gray warlord many seasons ago and to this day the Tinuvel stallion remained his most trusted and faithful alliance. Warsaw would see no pleasure in this sort of friendship that has apparently manifested itself even beyond Rougaru's expectations.

Wasp was different. Or so the king of Atlantis told himself. She did not alight his skin with desire as Monster and Zjeena did. He did not crave the brush of her skin or the burning desire in her eyes that drove him on to conquer the world. No, he saw her as something different completely. In his eyes, he saw no gender, at least not now. Perhaps had she come to him when the desires for procreating were at his peak then things might be different. For now, she was a fellow warrior, a hunter of shadows and protector and guardian. She fought the same battles that had once tangled his mind and allowed the beast access to the dark recesses found there. He saw her instead as he saw his own offspring, young and full of life and vigor. She searched to make a name for herself and by the gods above he would not allow her to wallow in self pity.

She seems taken aback by his words at first, the harshness of his tongue washing over her like the icy ocean waters of Tinuvel. He does not let his multifaceted green gaze waver from her own, instead peers deep into the dark brown hues in expectation. His words of wisdom fall upon her like rain from the heavens, soaking little by little into her bay colored skin upon the renewed brightness gleams in her eyes once more. There it is. he tells himself, a proud grin tugging his whiskered lips upwards. Her remark about feeling sorry for herself is met with an understanding nod. He knew those feelings well. Time and time again he wondered if there was not a way in which one might alter the past but he knew without a doubt that it was to no avail. Perhaps he might have made different decisions in his life... better decisions. But those decisions he made led him to where he was now. Had he not taken Sanibel by force, he would not have Beowulf. Were he not to have fought so hard against Liland, he would never have known the stoic beauty that was Zjeena, or his longing desire for Monster. His choices would not have given him the strong herd that now grazed at ease beneath the sheltered canopy of thick branches. "I know..." he murmurs, his gaze drifting to the herd grazing loosely ahead of them. "And you will have those times to come and haunt your dreams and waking moments." he continues, pausing now to turn his eyes back upon her, emerald eyes gleaming, "However it is when you give in to those whispered thoughts and let defeat wash over you that you become nothing. You must fight to stay afloat and show them all that you are stronger than that. Show them the fierceness of the peak mares and remind them of what it is you fight for." he finishes flicking his thick cream and caramel colored tail at her side. Sure she was older than any of his offspring, but still that fatherly urge seemed to overwhelm him when she was around. Even the wolf seemed content to extend its protection to her, regardless of where her allegiance lay.

She snorts now, the sorrow dissolving from her voice and replaced suddenly with a renewed life. A playful smirk tugs at his lips as she smiles up at him, her head lifted once more and that familiar gleam dancing in her eyes. She asks if he has any fighting tips for her and he finds himself chuckling wryly, "Yeah.... don't trip." he teases nudging her shoulder.