The sands of time showed memories of those who passed, leaving the future to be a forbidden blur of mystery. The newly self-outcast stallion wondered the desert leading to the Dragon’s Throat. His thoughts blurred together, skipping from the moments leading to this place. He seemed to be a shadow of himself, a figure masked in black. He was a void, empty of all emotion. The only thing that hummed inside him was pain. Pain from his failures, from his loss of love, from his sickness; these all stabbed his heart, leaving him with open wounds that wouldn’t heal, no matter how he tried to patch them up. He wondered if his demise of his old self was his own doing. He had chosen to take up Psyche as his love interest, chosen to be apart of the Plague, to join in the racism, and let the madness and hatred consume him. He felt now it was wrong, knowing that in his heart it had all be a lie, a fantasy façade that let him fit in. He had become someone else, something else, in order to fit in with a group, and that had left him scattered, his self shattered to pieces. It lived in a dream world now, searching for the pieces of his self, and picking them up. He finally had them all together, but it was all wrong; they seemed to not fit in the correct way, and they had lost their edges, cracked in some places. He was a jigsaw puzzle that had had pieces torn and cut off by force, and would never fit back the right way again. He moved with slow speed, the pain in his chest growing. He now had to force himself to eat, after his talk with the slave Rapha. He knew that this disease was what his parents and uncle had suffered from, had died from. He knew he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, go back to the DarkEmpress of the Aurora Basin. He despised her now, and no warm welcome waiting for him if he ever returned. His blood would spill, and he would lie dead on the frozen ground, while the She-Witch laughed as he faded from this world. He shook his head, knowing that world was below him. He wanted to start a new, afresh. The Throat was warmer than the winter stallion had known, but he would get used to it. Who was the leader again? He had heard whispers of the different leaders of the other herd lands. Mirage was of the World’s Edge, and...Kri. Kri was the leader of the Dragon’s Throat. He wondered if he should call her, but he decided against it, and waited for her to appear.

"talk talk talk"
"think think think"

Follow the trail of blood…
You'll find me at the end.