Our prince grew weary of their foolish games, his pale form barely suppressing the shudders of fury that threatened to rend him apart. Leliel's disappearance had not boded well with him, and while he had shown Onni all the gracious care he could, even following her home to her bland and unappealing desert of a home, but as soon as he could he abandoned motley collection of bastardized animals, scouring skies and earth for his brother's errant form. Leliel had ever been a side in our poor prince's side, a broody child who could see naught but the injustices of the world. He would never last on his own, and the sooner Shamsiel could get his brother, and himself, home, the better.

He had flown for the better part of a day, four wings pounding the air indignantly and lean body edged in sweat from the exertion. Frustration played ugly lines across his handsome face, ears pinned back in a vigorous scowl as he surveyed the field that now stretched beneath him. He worried that he had lost Leliel again, that his brother had slipped away under cover of darkness- but oh, what was that? Below, far below, a familiar dark shape, accompanied by a beam of startling pink.

Our prince could not admit to any great pleasure at the sight of Muriel; if anything else, it only enhanced his frustration to see her here. Why had she followed them? He had already promised her that he would bring Leliel back, would be her knight in shining armor and retrieve her wayward love. It was ironic, the lengths to which he was willing to go simply to win her affection; he told himself he did it for Leliel's sake, because the black stallion grew so irate at her attentions. He did not confess to anyone his envy at the idea of someone wanting Leliel over him.

Twin sets of wings arced in the wind, pressing against the forward motion of the air, spiraling downwards to where the moronic pair stood. Silver hooves hit the ground with a startling burst of noise, wings splayed and mane wild as he landed before his brother, maneuvering his more athletic body to block the easiest means of escape. "Leliel," our prince snapped, ignoring Muriel for the moment, "You will not run from me again." There was a harshness in his gaze, a cold and dangerous authority that few but the ones closest to him ever witnessed, a fury brought about by overprotective zeal and affection. All he wanted was to gather the pair up and return home. So what if the elders were morns? They would die soon, and our Prince would take the throne, and nobody would scorn Leliel again. They simply had to be patient. Not over reactive fools, as they were at present.