Desert

The moment her voice strains over the vast expanse of the desert, Rougaru thinks he must be imagining things. Small fluted ears stand at attention amid the dense tumble of his windstrewn mane as for a moment he pauses in his play with Tala to listen. Nostrils flare wide as the muscular stallion drinks in the familiar scents of the desert and something else he did not expect to taste.

Ysabel.

Emerald eyes glitter with intrigue. What business could the ice king’s queen possibly have here in the desert? Though he was far from finished with his feud with the Tinuvel king, he had yet to act against him… at least not lately anyway. While both mind and body recovered, the old wolf had left time to do its bidding upon Solomon in hopes that one day soon, the vicious packs that haunted the snowy woods would bring about the painted stallion’s demise. Was that what brought Warsaw’s kin here now? Was she bringing good news? He could only hope.

Nonetheless, with a single warning glare at Tala to remain behind, the muscular stallion sets off towards the beachscape in search of Ysabel. As he crests the final Dune of sand he spies her, standing still and proud, despite the clear exhaustion. The long journey from Tinuvel to Salem had drained much of the golden palomino mare’s energy. That was as plain as the lines of age on her still beautiful face. He tilts his own muzzle upwards as a graveled nicker rumbles from deep within the caverns of his chest. It was a greeting and an acknowledgement all in one.

He slows his pace now, sautering down onto the malleable sands of the beach and closing the gap of space that separated them with equal leisure. Some might consider it a waste of time, the wolf himself, a thoughtful gesture. At least his languid approach would give the older queen a moment to catch her breath before having to share his company. It would do him no good at all were she to pass out before he could hear her news.

He drops his thick head as he comes to a halt before her. ”Ysabel….” he purrs, the graveled tone of his voice trailing off as once more he lifts his muzzle, his emerald pools studying her face. ”It has been a long time… come to give me the good news of Solomon’s death?” he asks a deep chuckle rumbling from deep within him. No. He could never get quite that lucky. As his laugh subsides, the wolfish grin on his graying muzzle disappears and a far more stern expression settles into its place. ”Why have you come?”