One lost and lonely snowflake drifted on the bitter breeze, down it went until it snagged on a mass of coarse hair and fizzled to nothing but a drop of water forgotten in a sea of black. Alike the flake, the boy felt very much the same; cold, abandoned and desolate. His heap of curly dark mane fell wild and long, blown by the wind to frame his delicate face and accentuate his distinct blue eyes. However, his feet that split through the middle lay still on the ground whilst he contemplated the forest before him that sang to him in memories and mismatched feelings. Insecurity, yearning, misery, anger, love… he went through them all as his past life jostled in the back of his mind to be seen and heard; remembered. Sent by his own father to return to his place, Sacre had finally made it back, though he hadn't been gone a year, he had been gone long enough. Like a double-edged blade, however, the more he looked the more his heart broke into more pieces. Mother, Aviya… Their faces were like a knife being driven through his chest and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop it and, instead, he silently screamed his sorrow through eyes that glazed over with stricken grief.
 
The days of travelling had made it easier, even numbed the feelings he had towards the loss of his sister and eventually his mind had remembered her fondly. Now, looking across the familiar claiming grounds of the Threshold he was struck by how he would never find her here again, not in the mountains, not ever. It was as if in a desperate attempt to cope, his mind had somehow denied the fact she was dead, believing she was still alive and they were only separated by land.
 
For all of that, Sacre knew.
 
His eldest sister would not be here nor would she ever be. d'Artagnan had been brutally honest in that aspect when retelling the ordeal to his grief stricken son.
 
Taking a deep breath, he began to make his way through the woodland, the air was fresh and cold; apparently winter had not yet relinquished its grip. Clouds above gathered in threatening clumps that made the afternoon darker than usual and snow continued to leak from the sky in small showers. The scents were also a mixture of foreign and familiar as horses from all different walks of life tended to converge on this one point.
 
Sacre stopped in a glade to allow the scattering of paws behind him to catch up and, sure enough, a minute or so later, a pair of foxes came flying into view and slid in beside him. One was a one tail, the eldest fox and was of a red variety. The other, smaller vixen had four tails with the same merlot ear as her bonded and wore a dusty coat. Sacre, Inari and Ríona were musketeers of a different kind.
 
The three did not continue, however, as Sacre faltered in his decision… Where did he go now, back to the Dragons Throat? He winced at the thought. Oh, how he had already failed them… twice in fact. Whilst living there he had gained so much and offered them little in return, it was embarrassing and shameful. Perhaps he should try finding Roux, but his beloved crimson twin was often so difficult to find and Sacre had no idea whether he was still in the North or elsewhere.
 
“Where do we go now?” he sighed to his foxes, realising that much of his life here was an utter mess and in almost every direction he had underlying issues. The better question might have been “who will take us now?”
 
Another snowflake fell onto the tip of his horn and disappeared without a whisper.

---

Open to all! :D