Wilder</style>

Pitch black eyes keenly watched the ground below, looking for that familiar dappled coat. Wilder was at a loss now, homeless. Archibald had lost his place among the foothills, the brothers following after the dauntless stallion. Mandrake had vanished, leaving Wilder with a deep feeling of unease. Just as before, he'd searched for her, combing the land inch by inch. His wings were sore, but the stallion still flew on, driven as always by his devotion.

There was nothing interesting. Well, nothing interesting to him. The other brothers had all taken refuge in the Grey, in the forest. He supposed he would eventually join them, but at the moment he had no desire to, knowing Mother was somewhere out there. As he came to the woodlands, Wilder made a steady decent to the ground, light bones landing as large wings tucked themselves into his sides. Snorting loudly, the grey gave a toss of his head as he entered the woods. Even though this was the threshold where many a new inhabitant to the land entered, maybe Mother had entered for one reason or another. Wilder's ears pinned as thoughts of his brothers cross his mind. Stupid boys seemed to be under the impression that they were better than him- well they weren't. They were to serve their purpose as a Drakeson, and yet? Well, so far as he could recollect, he'd seen not a single one of them searching as well for the mother they were supposed to hold dear. Only Wilder.

A sound brings him out of his thoughts. Snorting again, the stallion's ears tilted back, not quite pinning. Feathers puffing slightly, enlarging their size, Wilder trotted towards the source of the sound, neck snaked forward. He doubted, though part of him hoped that it was Mother. Yet as he came across the body of a young unicorn, black and red in color, Wilder's disappointment shows. He hasn't seen her before, but then, that was a relevant observation since his exposure was solely that of the company Mandrake kept. He's not impressed. She hasn't noticed him yet, oblivious to the white ghost who's been shadowing her for some time now. Or maybe she's just ignoring him. He doesn't care, doesn't feel threatened. The battle worn veteran wears those scars of his with pride. Finally boring of this little sidetrack of his, the ghost makes his presence known, lifting his wings, feathers causing enough noise to announce his presence. His voice is sharp both in speed and bite, a mockery of the words which might have been a precursor to some sort of aid- if Wilder was inclined to do so.

"Are we lost, little girl?"

Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.</style>