"Theseus!" The tobiano stallion's voice came out in a sharp hiss as he hurried across the border of the Commons, his gaze shooting worriedly back and forth across the treeline. After he had abdicated his place in the Lagoon, Rehoboam had taken refuge as a wanderer of the Crossing, never allowing himself to put down any kind of roots. If he dared to call any place home, he knew without a doubt that he would set off a timer above his head, counting down to when the Lagoon or Nyimara found out about him.
He had sworn he would not step foot in the Commons again, and yet, here he was, chasing his boisterous son across the open field with sweat already gathering on his brow despite the cool autumn temperature.
"Get back here!"
The weanling boy - a striking black and white combination of his parents - only giggled shrilly, mistaking his father's panic for a game. With two ferocious parents looking after him, Theseus had had little to fear in his six months of life. And while he had been told often enough not to go into the Commons, he figured it was kind of like those warnings to not run in the mud or try to jump logs. Like it
might be bad, not that it
would be for certain.
"Now!" Rehoboam growled, finally getting through to the colt who halted his eager dash across the Commons to turn and look at his father, brows knitted in confusion. Obediently, he took a step toward him, only to freeze and suddenly look off to the side as someone else approached. The grullo rushed the final few steps before he, too, turned to face the oncomer.