Meadow

The mare is caught off-guard, that much is clear, and Rafe is pleased to have set the tone in the conversation so early. He prefers it this way, of course, likes to have the upper hand and one of the easiest ways to do that is to be just a step ahead, unsettle whoever he’s speaking to just enough that they feel there is ground to be recovered. Her stammering certainly points to his success, and Rafe bites back a self-satisfied smirk. Idly, he wonders just what it is this pretty mare is fleeing, what she needs to get away from.

He stays silent, let’s her soft voice continue on with rushed exclamations. Of course she has a home and a family - she seems too approachable to be one of the Peak mares he’s taken so much care to avoid, and she seems…softer, somehow, than the mares he has known to wander. Especially during Autumn - any mare who had spent her life outside the protected borders of a well-defended land, with an attentive herd stallion, would know better than to so easily welcome a stranger at this time of the year. “Of course you do,” he murmurs, tone somewhere between soothing and patronizing, though he has no idea if the mare will pick up on it in his low drawl. She goes achingly still, no longer fidgeting her nerves but instead looking torn between bolting.

Rafe backs off some, a casual half-step back like he’s recognizing her discomfort and easing off for her sake. It seems as if it work, or as if something else changes, and she relaxes, begs for him to stay. A thrill of success, of amusement, courses through Rafe’s veins at her easy capitulation, but he is careful to not let it show on his face. No reason to scare her off, not when she’s asked him to stick around. “Then I won’t leave you,” he agrees in a murmur, making the conscious effort to soften his voice, to appear…supportive, safe, as if he isn’t idly considering just how easy it would be to fan the flames of her sadness, her disappointment, tempt her to life in the Badlands with a few well placed words and empty, vacuous promises. Just as he did with Sabriel, he can paint a picture of forgiveness, of new beginnings, of a home free from whatever sadness it is she flees.

Instead of letting honey-sweet words begin the process, he decides that perhaps the proper path here is a short-term approach - a midnight dalliance, a chance for her to get payback at whoever has her so upset, and him a willing helper. He hardly needs another unhappy mare trapped in his home - he’s outnumbered, as it is. And if she really does have a family, Rafe has little desire to pick a fight with an unknown entity over a stranger. She’s a pretty thing, the sadness in her echoing something in his meeting with Sabriel, but hardly worth sparking a war over. So Rafe responds when she lowers her delicate head; he takes a slow, well-telegraphed step forward and meets her muzzle with his own. “Is it your family that has you so distraught?” he asks, still working to keep himself soft, non-threatening, no biting tone to his speech. “What has your lover done, to have you in tears in a place like this? Certainly, it would seem he doesn’t appreciate what he has.”