Emptiness settled in the grulla unicorn’s belly, as it always did. She smelled the fresh springtime grass, lush and thick at the edge of the trail—irresistible, enticing in ways that few things could be. She was so hungry. It showed in the painful lines of her ribs, the sharp angles of her hips, and the awkwardly stocky build of her legs contrasting with the relative thinness of her body. Weakly nickering, the mare paused her slow, tired walk on the trail and turned her attention to a particularly lovely looking patch of grass. She buried her black stained maw in it, breathing in its earthy, fresh scent. Sweet, delicious torture… Her tongue reached out to lick it, itching for a taste. It was so soft and pliant beneath her lips. Eagerly—too eagerly, she’d regret this later—she bit down, ripping up a mouthful of the plant and chewing. Her body tensed, ready for her father to come bursting out of the woods that lined her trail and raise his hoof to knock her down for daring to eat the new growth. Her stomach rolled, fear and adrenaline ruining her appetite as it always did. Umbriel barely got the mouthful she had down her throat. It hitched and dragged the entire way down, the weight of it filling her with guilt and disgust. Even if her father hadn’t been there for the past two years to beat her for taking the good grass from her brother, she still felt the guilt. She knew she was a failure, she knew her brother Isomer, the perfect equine, not this horned ugly thing, needed it more than her. At least that’s what her father told her. Brie’s mother had been silent on that subject. She’d been silent the entire time Umbriel had been under her care. Lavender never stood up for her own daughter when the beast she’d chosen as a mate hurt Umbriel. She never spoke against him. She was his enabler. Umbriel hated her, hated both of them. The bitterness settled in her heart as the hungriness did in her belly, building and feeding off each other, viciously cycling. A growl escaped her throat, low and feral. She’d never forgive them, she’d never love them. They never loved her, so why should she? It wasn’t Umbriel’s fault she wasn’t a stallion. It wasn’t her fault she’d inherited her bastard father’s terrible horn that marked him as less than all others, though hers was even worse than his was. Instead of being tightly spiraled and beautiful, Umbriel’s horn was smooth, thick, and solid black, matching the stockings and slight feathering on her legs and the blackness around her mouth and eyes as well as her thick but scraggly mane and tail. It had a gradual curve and came to a deadly sharp point. Funnily enough, she’d never used it in defense of herself. No matter how many times she’d been cornered by her father and later her brother, Umbriel had never thought to use it to hurt them. Blood must really be thicker than water, she bitterly spat in her mind, grinding her sharp hooves into the ground with every step. Her eyes closed briefly as she stopped yet again, the hunger wracking at her body. The small mouthful she’d managed to choke down had not been enough, but the anger filled her stomach, choking her throat, making it impossible to try again to swallow another patch. The hunger ate away at Umbriel and her sanity, slowly but surely, just as the rage did.

The mare kept plodding along, her head down and feet dragging slowly through the dirt of the trail. The sun had already set low in the horizon, and the forest was bathed in darkness. Owls hooted above her, bats screeched in the night, their leathery wings slapping away at the night air. Undeterminable eyes watched the nearly emaciated mare from the protective shadows of the thick trees, waiting for her to fall, ready to swoop in for the kill. But Briel never fell, she never slowed her pace. She was a constant, a survivor. She had been in several frightening woods in her time with predators lurking in the shadows, waiting to gobble her up. She always outlasted them; she always forced herself to keep going and not to stumble. She hadn’t survived years of her father and brother just to lose herself to wild dogs. They were lower than she was, unworthy of even her starving body, much less the bodies of healthy horses. She hated them. She hated the way their saliva pooled and dripped down their mouths, plunking onto the dirt under their mouths. She hated their high-pitched yelps and whines, begging for food. It was disgusting. She spat in their direction, a terrible scowl warping her face. The dogs barked and snarled, but made no move to attack. Umbriel kept moving forward. She wouldn’t let them see her fear and give them that satisfaction. Her emerald eyes focused only on the stretch of trail ahead of her, never glancing to the side. She knew eventually she’d come to some sort of civilization if only she kept going.

umbriel«

»your skin and bones turn into something beautiful.