Even despite that pouring rain and rushing wind that view below was...spectacular. Frost, for several moments, was near inclined to forget about that lancing cold as his breath rose like mist with every flare of his nostrils. The ground beneath them rushed past. Those wings, even gliding as he was now, afforded him far more speed then he had ever been able to reach at a gallop. It was foolish, perhaps, to consider just how fast those wings could send him when he had barely learned to control them and yet that stallion had so eternally been destined to...press agianst any barrier put before him. Those very thoughts were offered toward Alexander as the Hunter ducked lower upon his back in an effort to shield himself from the wind and cutting rain within the locks of Frost's mane. Alexander, however, so hardly seemed as taken with the idea of testing that speed as his mount. The Hunter's thoughts holding near the same tone as his words often did in those moments in which the Macedonian was inclined to displeasure. The use of Frost's true name prompted an equally notable frown from the equine as he began to descend back towards the sodden grasslands below them.
Did you just 'Rixon' me?"
It was distinctly rare, in every sense, for either man to use the others full name- in any form. Frost's words, for now, holding a note of tease all the same as he near reluctantly began to drop lower and lower to the earth below. Alexander, he supposed, was right. It would be...imprudent to attempt to test the full capabilities of wings he had barely learned to use in the depths of a storm. Especially when the clouds above threatened to realise lightning along with rain. How distinctly unimpressive it would be to be struck down by lightning when he had earned those wings only hours ago. It was Frost's own contemplation of those abilities however that saw the equine press those further thoughts to Alexander's mind. They had trained for years in those dressage movements and airs-above-ground. Alexander had, over that time, taught him a veritable plethora of commands- a communication between feet and hands and heels alone with no need for the Hunters voice. That communication a distinctly silent one between them and yet- wings changed that metaphorical battlefield once more. Commands for flying and airbourne dressage did not exist. The task of writing an entirely new chapter in that language of horse and rider sure to fall to Alexander alone. How Frost suspected the Macedonian would near relish in that challenge and yet- how readily his own mind seemed to delight at the thought. Alexander offered little more then a grunt by way of response. Just how cold the Hunter was in that whipping wind was decidedly clear. Frost, in response, began to drop lower still before his figure began to lean back. A rare in mid-air, as Alexander had suggested, one that threw his weight backward and his wings more forward until they hovered neatly above the ground and yet...flapping those wings was far, far more effortful then merely gliding, Frost already beginning to feel that strain. Christ. He had thought he had been fit before- those wings would demand even more of him- in time.
Frost's hind hooves at last scraped agianst the earth, the stallion waiting only so long as it took to assure himself he had his balance before allowing his front hooves to crash back to the ground. That very jolt that came with that sudden halting of his wings and striking that earth the very sort of jolt he had stove to avoid offering his companion and yet- there was little to be done for that landing now. It was, in the least, far better than the last. Another grunt of sorts fell from his companions lips as Frost's ears swiveled backward in a faint, albeit notable, display of concern for his rider. Alex, after all, had taken on that wound for him. It was the sudden movement of....something within the trees however that readily seemed to ensnare the stallion attention. Frost, in a movement instinctive to hsi species, seemed to near pivot in place as his ears pricked sharply forward and his head angled hurriedly towards the source of that sound. It was...difficult to see through that rain and yet the white pelt of what so undoubtedly smelled like a mare unmistakable. It was, perhaps, those very equine instincts that seemed to override his own human thoughts in that moment as Frost moved to stride towards those trees and the mare within them. His thoughts uttered loosely to his companion as he did- only to feel a sharp, purposefully tug of those reins and the bit that rested between his teeth.
A soft snort of irritation huffed from the stallion's nose as his hooves halted upon the damp earth all the same. That momentary joly seeming to return that human sense. Alexander was right, even if he was hardly inclined to admit it aloud. There was little sense in chasing after some wild molgionian horse. It was....rare to find one so white as that and yet Frost had seen enough of that Mongolian stock to know she would surely be no more than a short, stocky, scruffy, unkempt pony when viewed close up. With no rider she was hardly worth their time. How....irritating that those stallion.....inclinations had gotten the better of him. Even if only for a moment. That moment however was all it took for those wings to fade into nothingness as Alexander's heels tapped at his sides once more. Frost, for now, hardly inclined to argue with his companion as he broke into a trot once more. There was something decidedly satisfying about that ground beneath his hooves. Alexander's insistence that those wings would, eventually, come whenever he desired them was a pleasing thought. Frost held every belief in the Ancient Hunter's ability to understand that new affinity as the pair began to rejoin that race at last. Just what they were to do about that GPS however was another matter entirely. It was going to show them moving at....supernatural speed. Along with going over an impassable mountain. Alexander's suggestion that it was too late to fix what was recorded in 'real time' prompted a frown to the stallion's features once more. Would those race officials truly believe the GPS had simply malfunctioned? How distinctly obvious Alexanders lack of modern technology was and yet- how hardly the equine blamed his rider.
"I blame your fairy son. Is he not supposed to possess gifts for future sight among other 'immeasurable' talents and greatness? That is how he described himself.. If he can teleport and see the future and restore what is around him can he not simply appear here and fix the GPS? Frankly I don't know why you keep him. In the two thousand or so years you have lived you must have had endless opportunities to choose for yourself a son and heir and that is the one you chose?"
Frost's head angled backward to eye his companion momentarily, one eye arched upward in clear dubiousness of Alexander's choice in Matteo. Frost, clearly, inclined to expect more of the Frenchman that was supposedly all knowing and who had allowed them to near fall to their deaths. Alexander's reminder that they had only an hour left before they would be forced to camp prompted Frost's pace to increase to that sweeping canter once more. The sheer size of his equine form allowed for a ground covering stride and yet, even if he were to gallop that entire plain for the rest of the night he was near assured they would still be behind. The rain and cold so hardly improved their situation. That, in the very least, was something he could remedy if only a little- Frost so allowing that affinity for heat to embrace them both and chase away the cold of the wind as they raced across that sodden plain.
His hooves had become dull, damp thuds. The earth had long since turned to mud. Frost's once pristine white limbs were near caked in the sodden mess after that hour in which they had cantered across those plains. If there was a base camp close by they were hardly going to reach it tonight. In the very least they were not required to check in at that first point until after the sun had risen tomorrow. That, he was certain, they would make in time- provided they rose early enough and yet just where Alexander intended to camp in a barren field with little more then the occasional boulder or near naked tree Frost hardly knew. That darkness, however, was quickly settling upon them. Frost's pace slowed to a loping trot once more, the stallion heading towards a large boulder that might, perhaps, at least offer shelter from the wind and allow Alexander to set up his tent without it blowing away. The both of them were sure to face a freezing, windy night all the same. Frost came to a halt beside the towering stone, his sodden figure remaining still as Alexander swung from the saddle and, at last, began to unsaddle him in turn. Frost's own figure stretched in contentment at having that weight lifted from him, his form shaking off that rain as best he could with his newfound freedom before shifting to stand as close to that boulder as he could. Any hopes of having a fire seemed.....limited. Watching Alexander attempt to set up his tentin that wind and rain however was....almost amusing.
"Are you sure you felled the Persian Empire? That tent seems to be getting the better of you."
That decidedly horse-ish rumble of amusement rose within the equines throat even if it was sure to be unappreciated by his companion. Hmm. If only they had shelter. It was some fifteen minutes later, perhaps, that the rain seemed to abruptly cease- at least above Alexander alone. Frost so having managed, somehow, to summon those wings once more. One singular, magnificent appendage had been stretched out up and over the Hunter to provide the Macedonian temporary shelter- at least enough to allow him to set up a tent. Frost, however, seemed content not to acknowledge his own efforts to help as if being caught assisting his companion too much might somehow speak too highly of his own character. The equine instead determinedly looking out across the plain from beneath his own soaked forelock. It was only once that tent was set up that Frost folded his wing back once more- those appendages again disappearing.
"Alex- before you go climbing into your tent, I request my rain jacket. The blue one, with the hood."
It was the rules, after all. No Hunter could rest before his horse was taken care off. Frost, tonight, determined to exact that very thing as he waited for Alexander to unfold that heavy, waterproof, fleece lined rain rug. The stallion, for once, content to stand politely as Alexander fitted it in place. Frost having previously decided to walk off each and every time Alexander had tried back within the city. It was only once that warm rug had been fitted that Frost saw fit to allow Alexander to scramble into the warmth and dry of his tent. The scent of food an hour or so later prompting the appearance of Frost's sodden nose in the small gap at the bottom of the tent door.
"My food is wet- what are you having?"