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Oh how part of him wished he hadn't fled, stayed beneath the protective cover of his sister wing and followed her from the chaos, listened to his papa when he'd told his sister to keep him safe. There had been death and then that monster, filling up his vision with carnage while small fuzzy ears were assaulted by the crackle of magic and bellowed commands. All his youthful bluster and courage had melted from him and he'd ran, sapped every ounce of happiness from his bones as he tore across the marsh on wobbly feet. Fright stumbled him through the marsh, one or twice he'd fallen, hoof stuck momentarily in sucking mud or tripped by a mocking piece of bone, a steady stream of scrapes soon peppered thin legs. Pristine coat now dirtied with a mess of stagnant water and dirt, the same treatment given to his crop of blonde, stuck against his neck and legs. Terror had caused tears to prick at the corner of his odd coloured eyes and sob out a rattled breath. He'd ran until the murky grime filtered out into sand and sea grasses, and when he fell that time he'd curled in on himself. Comforted by the familiarity of sand and salt wind, it still didn't make up for what he'd saw, and what he felt. A small voice in his head tearfully chanting 'I should of stayed at home, I should of listened to ma' as his ringed ears nestled against his poll and he squeezed his eyes shut. Byron didn't know how long he'd been huddled there, praying that the grasses would wrap around tight and keep him safe. Pay him back for all the times he'd laid among them and chattered to them, the wind and the rolling waves. Byron, an eye dared to crack open an inch, someone or something was calling out for him somewhere in the distance. Another wash of dread wrapped around his small frame, please let it not be a monster, he hoped. No, a chestnut stag appeared shortly after his name had evaporated from the air, the lantern wrapped in his antlers and the familar marking painting his side. Pa. His dad had come looking for him? He didn't realize that he'd sprang up from his nest within the sand, mud painted coat now itched with coarse grit and wounds stung their complaint, until he'd nearly fallen down the dunes in a desperate bid to reach his father. "PA." Half-choked with a sob caught between relief and renewed fear, petite muzzle pressed forward to try bury into the stallion's side to hide his tears. Byron talks |
@Tilney
![[Image: byron_by_ehrendi_daod2ik_by_arahvir-daoxhe4.png]](http://orig14.deviantart.net/f507/f/2016/323/d/8/byron_by_ehrendi_daod2ik_by_arahvir-daoxhe4.png)
please only tag Byron in opening posts!
