Kianzo

I loathe your prayer. I wallow in sin. Let the nightmare begin.

A answer called though the mists and while it was vaguely familiar, it was not a true answer. The colt had no ‘friends.’ The very angry loneliness he was trying to escape in this moment showcased that. So his black rimmed ears tilted backwards as his sharp eyes narrowed, while his head slowly rose from the dead, bronze mane he was investigated. He peered through the milky white air, seeking to know who this ’friend’ was.

His golden ears snapped forward as an equally golden body materialized—the Laurelin. And his small, cerndyr companion hung cautiously at his heels. Unmoving, the dark prince watched the gold’s two horns dip down in greeting—though he does not return the motion. Instead, his dark chin jerks once in a combination of recognition and greeting, though his crown never drops.

A ghost of a smirk crossed his muzzle as the man comments on his practicing his magical skill. “I did,” the low, simple affirmation spoke volumes more than it actually said. For the colt to listen to another’s advice, and to not give some malicious reply was truly remarkable. Perhaps he actually held some esteem for the golden man who had beguiled his ambitious mind at a young, impressionable age with his power. Or, perhaps the colt really was just that lonely.

“Babies were always boring,” his deep voice answered cooly, though a gleam in his sharp blue gaze and leaning towards the gold gave away his interest in the Laurelin’s response to this answer, “It’s the mothers that are interesting to watch.” Then a silence fell between the two golden creatures—one powerful and well established in his crafts, the other young and still wanting needing to know his power. Sharp eyes twitched to the coiling, leonine tail.

And then his eyes closed as his gaze darts away at the Laurelin’s next words—so painfully close to the heart of the problem: Kiada. Keusi paused in her crushing of bones and ripping of flesh, her gaze glancing between her bonded and the grown stallion, attention drawn by the sudden, poignant pulse of shameful pain through her dark prince.

“Fire burns fine on its own,” now his deep voice grew surly, bordering on dangerous anger, “Besides, I think that fire has found another to keep it company.” A hard, short snort pushed past his nostrils as his gaze (now a glare) returned to the wily, cunning gold pits before him. A small, dark hoof struck out slightly at the carcass at his feet, peeling away some of the golden scales, “Why are you here, Laurelin?” Then his jaw set in an eerie (but much darker) resemblance to his father.