He wasn’t expecting such a simple answer. Playing with a rabbit, of course. It’s not something he’s ever indulged in, but he has sisters - some much younger than him, always looking for a game. It seems so innocent a pastime that he’s caught off guard a bit; that she would so readily admit to something as frivolous as hide and seek with a rodent is a stark contrast to the mares that Rafe knows. Perhaps it’s different here, but where he comes from, no one grown would waste precious energy on that, let alone admit to indulging in a game. There’s little time for games when every moment is fighting for survival, against the land, against enemies, against the pervasive others that plagued those islands. Rafe grins at the mare, ears pricking forward as he agrees, ”They are sneaky, quick little creatures aren’t they?”
Of course they’re almost immediately interrupted. She’s too pretty to be wandering here alone, and at this time of year he cannot be the only one drawn in. Rafe has only just made it to the mares side and finished speaking (all from a perfectly respectable distance from her, unlike this other stallion, he should note) before this bulky, mottled grey nuisance is barging his way in on their conversation. The other stallion settles himself firmly at the mare’s side, and greets her like an old friend before questioning Rafe. The grey stallion introduces himself and there’s a quip on Rafe’s tongue (a clunky name for a clunky beast) but he bites it back. If this mare is actually friends with the newcomer, insulting this Björn character is likely a poor showing. Rafe’s blue eyes rove suspiciously over Björn, uncertain how he was so quickly pegged as new to this bizarre little archipelago. He’s always been boldly colored enough that passing by unnoticed is uncommon, if not impossible. Perhaps that’s all it is? At home, his coat marked him for exactly who he was, the carefully crafted combination of two certain bloodlines, and not someone to be questioned. Here, though, those names mean nothing. No legacy to contend with, no history to live up to, no family to rely upon. It’s a change that he still needs to adapt to.
Well, there’s little point in denying it. ”A recent arrival,” Rafe agrees, voice smooth. “I doubt you’ve heard of my previous home, but these days I can be found leading the Badlands on Salem.” Is there any point in mentioning he took the territory within a few hours of washing up on on one of these godforsaken beaches? Probably not a way to do so without sounding boastful, so he refrains. It’s the mare who speaks then, asking after his name. “Rafe,” he says with a nod to the mare. “It’s nice to meet you, Wren.” He glances around them, at the mostly-empty meadow the trio stand in. “What brought you to this place all alone?”It seems a safe enough place, but the eager way she greeted him shows she has either too much faith in others, or a certain naiveté that draws stallions like him like flies. Björn clued in to his intentions quickly enough. That alone tells him he can’t be the only stallion skulking around the edges of these lush interior lands, keeping an eye out for a few pretty mates to add to their homes.