like the sea, constantly changing from calm to ill.
Some would say that the buckskin had found secrecy due to his slanderous judgments of being a traitor. He was no traitor, he had no loyalties really in truth - how could he betray them? He only had affections (if one could call it such) for an Amazon witch. A curiosity more than anything, he wonders momentarily if they had a child. He also thinks then, perhaps he would visit. He also thinks the whispers of war were on the table and perhaps it was best to not flee from his 'home' if it truly needed his aide.
Rapscallion was no hero before you think that; he just likes chaos.
His green eyes fall onto a familiar form, she is not with child and something just seems different about her. Wichita was probably the closest thing he had to calling an acquaintance much less friend. The rogue man moves towards her, his ratted black forelock swaying back and forth across his eyes. He nickers to let her know he's approaching, her scent infiltrating his nose and his lips parting to say hello. "Wichita, you're different," he says plainly, matter of factly, if anyone would be a hard read for her it would be him. "What is happening here?" He is not a man of many words, often always to the point if not bland then dryly throwing humor out. He finds rotting carcasses funny, though.
.r a p s c a l l i o n.