The raid had been a rush from beginning to end; from the moment Cullen had tensed like a hound at the scent of his would-be prey and dipped his bright mouth to whisper in Varanduil's ear to the moment the powerful black beast had set her glittering sights on him- on him, as if he were something to covet, and though he knew he was only incidental and the true target was Cullen, the fleeting thought turned his flesh hot with excitement- and his vicious leader had flashed to meet her like a gilt blade eager to split her at her darksome seams. Watching them churn and surge like stormy tides had been an agony. He twitched with hungry envy when they seemed evenly matched; shrank with a sudden cold rush each time Cullen seemed disadvantaged; stood straining in adrenaline-drunk disbelief when she was driven back, the whole glorious tidal wave of her, such that by the time his leader returned to him, steaming from his sweat-marbled flesh with the heat of battle, it was Varanduil who was trembling and breathing hard, thinking with a ferocious disappointment in himself of the two little things- children- Cullen had asked him for, who were now far beyond his reach.

How strange, to care so much about his own failings. They were nothing new, and he had long since stopped being bothered by them, until now.

Now, following close at his leader's glittering hip through patches of fresh snow between dense trees, he was thinking of pale, fearless eyes and a soft pink mouth that murmured that he could be wanted, and for what price? The world? The matted dark ruffles across Cullen's bright breast and the swells of his proud shoulders had become an obsession for Varanduil in the time between his lead's fight and where they now placidly tread through the mottling shadows of the Lagoon, and now he finally gave in to the urge to stretch to them and carefully lap the dried blood from the nearest large scratch, ready to be swiftly bitten in retaliation but unable to help himself. With the salt and copper of Cullen's sweat and blood in his mouth and a hot jealousy for the marks on him burning behind his dark eyes, he thought the world was not so very much to ask.

"You are special."

He barely stopped himself from flinching as if from a blow, his legs hesitating as he stared after Cullen's proud golden back, trying to hunt out the trap from his velvet voice- but once again, what point was there in it? Why offer him temptations and promises when Varanduil was already his? He could comprehend it no more now than when Cullen had first murmured such delicious offerings to him on that hushed dawn beach where he'd claimed him, and after a moment with no answers to show for it, he hurried to catch up, his usually sure feet struggling not to stumble in the wake of Cullen's intimately-whispered gift.

It was enough distraction that he nearly missed the white shape he was steering them toward, and he perked up at once when he saw him (even larger than the sleek black kladruber whose sharp-toothed company they'd just left behind). Slipping, massive and pale as fresh milk, under the shelter of the trees, the stallion looked more myth than animal- a thudding white shadow coloured with a vulnerable pink flush where his shimmering fur was fine enough. Was this one of Cullen's 'clansmen'..? One of Varanduil's clansmen? -It would seem not, from his leader's greeting. He arched eagerly toward him on the tips of his narrow hooves. Should he introduce himself..? Or-

He glanced swiftly under his lashes at Cullen, to whom he'd given his wretched name without reserve, despite his desires to see his marble face stiffen with impassioned frustration at being denied. -But he owed this mythical creature masquerading as a horse nothing at all. Let him call him what he liked- and Varanduil rather liked the idea of seeing what he'd choose, or if he chose anything at all. He shifted gingerly a little closer, wondering if the pale beast would be hot, like live blood, or cold as the snow around them, or if, upon touching him, Varanduil would pass through him like so much unearthly fog, but, very aware of his golden master standing proud and ponderous beside him, he leashed the urge to reach out and test his blunt, hungry teeth against the monster's shifting muscle to find out.