As buoyant as the stallion was feeling about his new home and the prospect of a reunion with his friend, Iscariot hadn't picked up on the somber mood between the pair until he'd already inserted himself into their conversation. And by the time the realization had sunk in, it was too late to extricate himself with grace and allow the pair a measure of privacy to discuss whatever matters they needed. Abashed, the almost-white Andalusian was at least determined to offer the courtesy of remaining silent while Faolain and the stranger - Shamwari - conversed, and allowed his pale blue eyes to wander as the slender black mare began to speak.

It was more not as easy a task as he imagined that it would be, however. With each grave statement that Faolain made, the contented smile on Iscariot’s face twisted downward into a frown. As close as their bodies were, he could have sworn that he felt the electrical current of the mare’s subtle tension crackling beneath her inky coat. It seemed to seep into his own pale skin, until the lax muscles of his body had drawn taut with strain that did not release with the sound of Faolain’s laughter as it might have done in any other circumstance. And though he sensed the brief touch of the mare’s gaze, Iscariot kept his own stare focused determinedly on the surf in an effort to conceal the concern and fear in their depths.

At first glance, the Ridge had been peaceful - no, idyllic. There was certainly nothing more that their kind could ask for out of a home. So of course - as was the natural order of things - there was something wrong with his new home, concealed like a venomous barb beneath its too-perfect surface. If he was understanding the flow of words correctly, they were on an island surrounded by potential enemies. The worst part was knowing that if this Rougaru was determined to make trouble for Faolain and his sister, Iscariot was far more of a burden than a boon. With the chronic weakness that afflicted his hind limbs, the cream-colored stallion couldn’t fight - but nor would he be able to flee. And so his companions would be forced to stand their ground and defend him, even if the outcome of such a battle was hopeless.

Iscariot’s heart sank, and he swallowed hard against the bitter gorge of self-recrimination. It wouldn’t help to argue his lack of worth to either Faolain or his sister. True or not, his words would just upset them both.

So what could he do? Immersed deeply in the tumult taking place in his mind, the perlino was unable to hear if Shamwari replied. His thoughts turned briefly to Rhadra, then skipped back further to his meeting with Faolain. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe that this neighbor was as much a danger as the other stallion had spoken, but Iscariot had surprised himself so far in his ability to make friends. Perhaps, if nothing else, he could utilize these newly-discovered diplomatic skills to smooth over any confrontations that took place before they escalated. In fact, if the main issue was that Rougaru was unable to respect the authority or strength of a female leader, then perhaps what they needed was…

"A figurehead." The stallion finished aloud, turning to Faolain with a fervent delight in his eyes. "We don’t need someone who is stronger than him, necessarily, just someone whom he believes is strong. Some he will respect." Iscariot frowned again, trying to imagine who might be suitable to play the part. Not himself, of course - though the appropriate gender, it only took a short interaction with the stallion to reveal his physical limitations and understand that he was anything but a formidable opponent. But there had to be someone who could speak to the stallion and offer their assurances that the Ridge was neither a threat nor an easy target. It was unlikely they’d be able to lie to Rougaru forever, but perhaps - given enough time - Faolain could earn his respect before matters came to a head.