Gwyn glided through the caves, her strength growing each and every day. She landed sideways on a wall and pushed off again, wings unfurling and carrying her a short distance before she restarted her ritual. She trilled brightly, joyous in the display of her increasing power. She was a serpent of fire and death, a white flash in the eyes of her enemies. Her thoughts were childish and brash, bouncing and dancing with her emotions and confidence. Abraham, such a solid boy even in his two-season life, followed after her with a dim smile playing at the corners of his charcoal lips. Her visions and plans that writhed behind his eyelids were invigorating. He thrived off of her wildest dreams, her power, her will. He understood why he had been chosen to become her guardian and now her bondmate. They were made for each other. Where Abraham faltered, Gwyneverre soared. Where Gwyn stepped lightly, Abraham marched proudly on. Together they were perfect, building their match to one day take the whole of Helovia by storm.

Abraham wanted Reginald to stand at his side, but he knew his brother felt some sort of ill, boiling contempt for the pale serpent. It saddened Abraham to know his brother, of whom he shared the womb of his mother and their original lifeblood, did not approve of his companion. The dark colt tried to tell himself, as well as Gwyn, that it was fueled by misunderstanding. Reginald hates what he does not understand, and he envies for what he does not have. He told her, to comfort her, but it was his mantra for his own heart. The pain of disappointment and disapproval rang louder than any pain he had felt in his life. His brother shared so much with him, they were twins, nearly copies of the same genetic code, and still his brother's grey eyes looked at Gwyneverre with hatred.

Maybe Abraham was over exaggerating the feelings Reginald felt towards Gwyneverre, but any negative emotion was monumental to the dark prince.

A screech pulled the thick colt from his trance, his mismatched eyes focusing on his girl. She clung to a tree above his head, wings spread wide on her back, her sides puffed out. She felt threatened, and she needed to appear a bigger threat. Confused, Abraham shook his horned brow and snorted. Come down here. He willed her, glancing her way with storm and olive eyes. Hissing lightly, Gwyn floated lightly down from the tree, grabbing his mane with her human-like yet serpentine hands. Images flashed in Abraham's brain of himself, and then of the blank, pale color of her own scales. Abraham was confused once more. He did not understand what she was attempting to show him. Sighing, the colt continued his voyage onward. In the distance, camouflaged carefully by leaf covered branches, he heard a voice. The deepness of the voice masked the articulation of the words, but the curiosity the youngling felt in the very core of his being pulled him towards it.

Before him was a great unicorn, even through the dirtiness and blood that clung to his pelt. A long, blue horn protruded from his forehead. Abraham stopped, wonder mesmerizing his youthful gaze. His jaw gently hung open, confusion still fogging his brain. What was this stallion doing down here, looking so forlorn? Cuts and dirt littered the white hide, black spots unrecognizable through the telling appearance of the friesian's past. "Are you ok?" Abraham blurted out, Gwyn growling gently from his crest. The blackened colt stepped forward, squaring himself up just a few yards different from the form of the large man laying before him.

"What happened to you?"