Rafe follows Viveka when she flees. Their conversation hadn’t gone as expected, and Rafe is still reeling from her reveal. The shift from he hatred of him, to her dalliance with another and then her desperate confession of love was so rapid-fire, so much more than he ever expected. So when she fled to the ocean again, he followed. Last time, she had intended to drown herself; this time, she swam for the main island, and he followed behind. Rafe stayed far enough back, slinking along unobserved until she made it through the Lagoon, through the Commons and to the neutral Meadow. Hidden back in the trees, his icy gaze was keen as she fell to her knees, and then her side, bringing the child into the world. He does not approach, but watches quietly until both she had the child have risen. By this time, a tall, slate-gray stallion has approached. Rafe goes tense, expecting to have to fight for her safety. Instead, the stranger soothes Viveka, and leads both her and the colt away. Perhaps this is her mysterious Balor, then? She is safe, the child is safe, and Rafe knows where they are. He’s in no mood to drag her back - the child would never make it, and her wounds are too fresh to be rational.
So he continues North, skirting the edge of the Meadow and heading for the Falls. The lush green and the overwhelming rush of water will be a welcome change from the wastes of the Badlands. It seems he isn’t the only one seeking a chance to cool off. A young, pretty mare splashes joyfully in the water, her half-white coast soaked through. Rafe is immediately intrigued - what better way to cast off thoughts of Viveka, than to replace her? He steps from the tree line, approaching from the side and stopping a polite distance away. He lifts his head in greeting, eyes sliding appreciatively over her form. The noise of the falls is overwhelming, so when he speaks, Rafe makes a point to pitch his voice louder than his usual murmur.
“I think you’re supposed to drink it,” he teases, “Not splash it around.” Rafe lowers his own head to drink deeply, chasing away the lingering taste of saltwater from his long swim over. When he is finished he lifts his head, shaking it once to fling the icy-cold dripping water from his muzzle. His gaze settles on her again, and his ears prick forward in interest. “I’m Rafe,” he finally introduces himself, resolving to take a different tactic with this young mare; perhaps a softer approach is needed, in order to prevent a repeat of Viveka’s situation. There’s proof enough that he doesn’t need to press the issue of a claim to ass to his herd - Mae, Mirage. And others who wander through have begun to linger, familiar faces ever-growing in the Badlands - Paperlace, Klara, Ariadne. “I make my home in the Badlands.”