Rafe had left the battle with Velahrn feeling conflicted. Guilt is a strange, unfamiliar feeling, settling heavy in his stomach, coating his tongue with bile. Watching her limp away, bloodied and bruised and defeated had stirred something in him. He did not set out to abuse his own herd; until that day on the beach, he had never drawn blood from a mare. He had never drawn blood from one he was sworn to protect. Rafe is a great many things, most of which he is aware are overwhelmingly negative, but he had never been violent to those under his care. Unfortunately, the laws here are clear - a refusal to meet in battle is a loss, and Vela was well within her rights to challenge for her own freedom. He rather imagined she would flee, but instead the pretty brown mare had rushed down the beach, shouting out demands and launching into an attack.
Quite frankly, it wasn’t much of a fight. Raw, untested hatred is little match for experience and his size advantage. He may not tower over her, but he has a few inches and a number of pounds. Rafe had relied heavily on that, pushing her around with the bulk of his body to injure pride rather than draw blood. Still - things happen, and she’d left bleeding, the rock-sharpened edge of his hoof accidentally catching Vela as he’d moved away. He had stood still as she limped off, the rush of adrenaline from the fight slowly fading, jumbled thoughts tripping to the jarring difference between Vela and Viveka’s reactions to their captivity. Viveka had thrown herself to the mercy of the sea, desperate for affection, and Velahrn had fought valiantly, desperate to prove she needs no such thing.
For once, Rafe doesn’t know what is right. He has never been so unmoored before, uncertain of the proper path forward - he aches for his mother, for her gentle wisdom. He aches for Pai, for her blunt refusal of his antics, and he even aches for Gethin, that quiet, even-keeled shadow of an older brother. He can have none of that - and so instead he flees. Jack Dillinger is wandering around, and the Badlands will be safe for a few hours. He cannot bear to face any of his herd, not after what evil he has just wrought.
The night is near pitch black when he arrives at the Crossing Isle, wandering towards to Meadow with little other thought. He doesn’t need the temptation of the Common - right now, Rafe does not need yet another temptation, yet another bitter addition to his herd. Instead, he braces himself against the biting, icy winter wind and strides forward. Just because his mind is unsettled, with no direction or confidence, does not mean anyone else needs to know.
He is hardly paying attention to where he’s going, focusing solely on not tripping and breaking a leg on the icy ground when he glances up at the slightest sound. There’s a mare just ahead, and he’s approached from the side - already within a distance that this must have seemed an intentional approach. He lets his icy blue gaze flit across her, and then shrugs one shoulder. Well, while he’s here, why not say hello? Last time he’d been midnight wandering, he had met Sabriel. Perhaps whoever this mare is will take his confession, like the brindled silver mare had that night they met. He pricks his ears forward, and once he is close enough that he won’t need to shout Rafe murmurs, “You play a dangerous game - a winter night is no time to be alone. If the ice doesn’t get you, the Lagoon boys will.”