He is quite possibly the worst horse to find her. For one, he hates fire. It takes away the shadows. Warmth and light and fire are not his things. He’s a boy of the shadows and darkness and cold. He’d known destruction and death (so much of it at his own hands) at too young an age to be anything but what he was. And besides that problem, he knows nothing about children. It’s not like he could actually be counted on to raise a child into something functional. He hardly talks, prefers fighting to diplomacy, and doesn’t know what manners are.

He can just take to the girl to Demian or something.

To be fair, it takes him a minute to figure out that the foal is in fact a mare. And then it takes him another minute to be convinced she’s actually a horse, after she turns to a chick and then back to horse again. He’s been watching from the shadows, standing within a small copse of trees, his own shadow blanket pulled tight around him. It was no longer solid armor for war, though it looks like a normal horse coat and hid the cuts and bruises that littered his skin from the battle. Damn elastic horse – his neck still hurt.

Finally though, he wanders out to the girl when no one else approaches. She’s in the Valley, trespassing if you ask Rhonan without a recognizable mother around. But then again, the thing probably didn’t even know where she was. Not that Rhonan really cared, but he was trying, which is more than he can usually manage. “Are you….alright?” he asks awkwardly, coming to a stop near the filly, who’s still sprawled on the grass. He really doesn’t know what he’s actually supposed to do here.

He definitely should not be the one standing here with this girl. He actually has no idea what to do. Well, that’s not entirely true. As she backs away, he is smart enough to take his own step backward, trying to make it clear he’s not here to hurt her. Yes, he liked fighting, but no, he didn’t really plan to kill children that just so happened to be plopped in the Valley. Even if it’s technically trespassing.

Thankfully, his shadow wolf is not lurking by his side. He’d crafted a few of them, and though most had gone back to being shadows on the ground, this one had decided to stick around. He doesn’t know why, but it does come find him now and again, lingering at his side for some reason Rhonan can’t fathom. But it is not here now, or the girl would probably be running in the opposite direction. Not that he could blame her. Rhonan wasn’t the most comforting presence around.

“Rhonan,” he offers, his voice rough though not necessarily unkind. Not exactly soft and soothing either, but still. He’s trying. It’s about the best he can manage. “This is the Valley, but hell if I know who your mom is. You know her name?” He’d help her look, if she had something to go off of. But it’s not like he currently had a clue where to start. He’s wondering himself who her mother is and why the mare thought it prudent to leave her child in the middle of the Valley.

The dark is such a misunderstood thing. Sad, really, how little the world knows of the powers that flow through his veins. Not because he cares to be known as powerful, but rather because he simply wishes the world would understand. The darkness is kind, it is loving. It caresses you when you are alone, blankets you until you fall asleep. Yes, it can be deadly, but so can the light. The light, which illuminates all your flaws, which shows the world the things only darkness will keep hidden. The dark keeps your secrets, the light gives them away.

Ah, but of course, without light, there would be no shadows.

“Issa,” he repeats lazily, without any real purpose other than to store the name away in the endless collect of them. It’s a wonder he remember them all, because he doesn’t entirely care if he does or doesn’t. Sometimes he suspects it’s only Noah with that disappointed look in his eye that ever manages to keep Rhonan on track. What would Rhonan ever do without the ghost of his friend, always lingering in the corner of his vision (when they are alone, anyway)? Fall to pieces, probably. Slip into the darkness and simply stay there. There are worse fates. The darkness would welcome him with open arms.

The girl is still talking, and he catches most of the words, but she stutters and stumbles about with it and he can’t entirely be bothered to keep up with all of that. Flame keeps coming up though, she repeats it. “Flamevein?” he asks, not knowing that there are other Flame names running about as well. But he’s Flamevein once in a blue moon. “He’s almost never around, but he might show his face.”

He rolls a shoulder in a shrug, like this is no big deal. But of course, the realization is setting in on him slowly. He’s rather unknowingly just adopted a child. A girl, nonetheless, who leaves burning patches in the ground. What the hell is going to do with a girl? Shit. “You’re safe here,” he adds, like his nonchalant, gravely words can actually add any comfort.