We All Must Rise

He moves silently. Not softly for a horse but silently. Here in the Portal of all places, Seiji grows ever more appreciative of the enchanted greaves on his hind legs, which muffle the delicate noise of his footfalls. He slips between the trees unnoticed, just another shadow in a den of shadows. It is by far his least favorite place in the Rift. It's an ominous place, a tricky place, full of intention which fuzzes softly against his nerves. It reminds him of things he would prefer not to remember; it makes him want to run. He walks. He's heading west today, away from Halyven. Not looking for anyone here, though he passes a few of them by. Newcomers, he supposes, drawn into this place by the awful hunger which makes up the backbone of the Rift. He's a little surprised to find he thinks of it that way now — Rift. Not the word he used before. He's maybe growing a little too comfortable. He needs to move. His gait picks up to a trot, and worry keeps his ears keen as he moves. Not for long. There is a — noise. A voice. Seiji halts, his head up, muscle quivering beneath his skin. A roaring voice somewhere distant. The pounding of hooves. Someone under attack? He knows strange creatures dwell in this place alongside those who speak. Things less friendly than the more-or-less equid things wandering the land. For an instant, he's still. Trying to divine some sense from the distant clamor, but all he knows is someone sounds desperate. Maybe angry, maybe just afraid. And he knows this: he remains so grateful to Kiada for greeting him when he first arrived. For explaining it all. He can't explain, but maybe he can offer a little direction, like he tried to do for Ferro. He need not get involved. He's so bad at refusing to get involved. So he trots off again, scanning the trees for the source of the noise. He would like to call out, but he can't. He can only search, ears pricked, dark eyes keen, until he catches something like a flash of color there between the trees. Blue. Surprising. Seiji slows, wary, and tries to approach from the front. He is so quiet, so alarmingly black, he hopes the stranger won't mistake him for just another piece of the Rift. But he approaches slowly, his expression soft, his head low, and pauses a few paces away. Hoping to catch the other's eye. To assess the situation further. He thinks this must be the one who called out. Proof in the heaving sides, the wild eyes. And what happened? No one else is here. Seiji gazes at him with some concern.