like the sea, constantly changing from calm to ill.
Rapscallion has never understood the 'diplomatic' way or those who draw attention to themselves for little to no reason. He does not know the small filly on the hillside and although he is not one for being a heroic or even moral creature, he is bored today. Rapscallion is quite handsome, a milky buckskin with black forelock, athletic build, green eyes, so naturally he would be distant and emotionally stunted. There's always something wrong with them.
He cares nothing about his rank, he has no real loyalties but so far he's found here to be nicer than the cold Tundra winds and less testosterone to stifle. Although women were a tad bit dramatic in his eyes, they were easier to tolerate (especially during breeding season) than some man stroking his ego. He enjoyed the warm climate of the Amazons but he knows he is not welcomed there as a resident and although he's fine with testing limits; he isn't that stupid.
He finally makes his way to the girl a deep, brash voice appears, "Did standing out in the open, shrilling out really seem like the best viable option? There are warmongers knock at our doors, you know," he says without concern if she even understands what he is saying. His mother had never spoken or broken down things, she expected him to figure it out and he had. Rapscallion was born from two very intelligent but very conniving people. He isn't sure where he falls on the spectrum of either.
"Rapscallion." he says with nothing more, his attention goes back to the borders for any movement or telltale signs that he should be in a position of fight or flight.
.r a p s c a l l i o n.