He’s been lurking in the Valley, as Demian told him he could do. He has spent the time both learning the kingdom and this strange new gift of his. He can wrap himself in darkness, which is quickly becoming his favorite little trick. Mostly because he can hide the pretty pretty princess coat, which the demon did not change. Everything else about Rhonan was changed after the dreams, after his many lives (he will never be certain). As he lurked through the Valley, he caught glimpses out of the corner of his eye of his gray friend. Noah, just out of sight. Like he wants to be seen but cannot. Sometimes he sees Gero or Azula, but it’s usually Noah. It’s almost always Noah.
Maybe they are there, stuck between one dimension and the next. But no, that’s can’t be. They are dead. They may never have been alive. He still doesn’t know. He rarely sleeps, but of course, when he does all he hears are screams. Gero, as Azula ripped the flesh from his skin. Noah, as the horde descended. His crow, in that short moment before it fell out of the sky.
He’s been mostly solitary, but the visions of his dead friends are starting to drive him a little mad. They don’t come when others are around, and so he decides today perhaps he should seek someone else out. There’s a small little black female on the border, waiting to be greeting he thinks. He has no business greeting newcomers, but that doesn’t stop him from making his way over.
He doesn’t go because he looks like easy prey (he looks like a fucking pretty pretty princess with his white and gold coat, so he doesn’t judge by looks). He doesn’t go because he thinks she’s pretty or because he thinks he can be of any use or because he senses the darkness within her. No, he simply goes because he cannot keep seeing Noah lingering just out of sight. He wants his friend back so badly, wants to be the one who died instead. But his friend is dead, and Rhonan cannot bring him back.
So instead he greets the girl with a nod of his head. Shadows cling to him, masking most of the gold so he looks more black and white than anything else. He does enjoy this, not looking like one of the Amazonian mares. He enjoys being plain and boring, though of course, having shadows on his back makes him less than plain. It is better than gold, though. Anything is better than gold. “Rhonan,” he offers. “Can I help you?” As if he can actually help. But he’ll pretend. Why the hell not?
rhonan.