Night called Rorschach from the shadows, toward the heart of Denocte and into the moonlight.  She was not a romantic creature, but it was a night that was meant for lovers.  The thought struck her as she turned her sight toward the starlit sky, watching the way the heavens seemed to twinkle like diamonds caught in dark velvet.  For the briefest of moments, the usually standoffish mare sighs in a moment of pleasure, but the thought is as fleeting as it came as she pushes away such foolishness.  For Rorschach is a creature with her feet firmly planted on the ground and her mind was far too jaded for dreaming.  Inwardly scolding herself, the brindle striped mare made her way from the darkness of the trees and toward the mirrored lake, pushing forward and pushing all thoughts of poetry and starlight from her mind.

This place was different from others she’d been to before – here, the creatures relished the darkness, coming out in the moonlight to worship their deities and conduct their business.  She had always been drawn to the night, but here, it wasn’t quite the peace she’d once found it to be.  In a herd, she was never truly alone – and Rorschach was still getting used to the idea.  The vagrant mare had been by herself for far too long, and had grown too rough around the edges… but now, she found herself wanting to smooth the nettles in her demeanor, and forced herself out of her comfort zone.  Resigned to do just that, she continued toward the dark form of Lyra in the distance.

For a moment, she wondered how to address the stranger, taking in the blue of her coat in the same way that she’d recently observed the night sky.  It was a curious thing, to see a mare who so emulated the heavens, and intrigue drew her closer.  Here in this world, there were all manners of looks to the horses here, but as she was drawn to the night, so too was she drawn to those who looked like the stars.  

Once she was near enough to hear the quiet of the mare’s breathing, Rorschach cleared her throat to address the stranger.  ”Good evening.”  Her voice is masculine, like the hounds baying in the hunt, low toned but not unkind.  ”Forgive my interruption.  It’s been a restless sort of night…”  The sound of water on the shore soothed her nerves, as she dug deep within herself to find the warmth to not come off as being aloof to the stranger.  ”I don’t think we’ve met… I’m still new to this place.  I am Rorschach.”

Night Court Sage