A wheezing, stumbling creature ambles along a thin, hidden path. He walks, his long toes often causing a small falter in his step, his horn held lazily in front of him, his tail dragged low behind him. One might think he has little will to live – and they wouldn’t be far from the truth. But he is not suicidal, merely mercilessly trapped in a body whose age has been accelerated beyond repair. Ribs show, hips protrude, a deep dip in his back give evidence to a pain that must consequently course down his spine, all the time. The thin, ewe shaped neck barely holds the once majestic crown of the stallion, who bright, violet eyes peer out from sparse strands of mangy forelock.

Another breath is sucked in through yellowing teeth, before his dirty nose snorts it out, his back aching from the effort of holding his body up. How long until sunset… damnit. The purple tinged eyes had just glanced to the sky, seeing the raging Sun still high in the sky, he trudges onwards dully.

What else was he supposed to do? How long would he suffer? He was so tired of this form, and it had only been.. how long? Just how long had it been since he had met that ugly, witchy mare? She had shed her skin to become a beauty, just as he did at night. She had been the one to curse him, to make his namesake come true. I am nothing but an ugly beast now… He didn’t realise that he had been a beast all along.

He hated her. He hated this body. He was tired of its uselessness, its accelerated aging, its tired and aching joints. He longed for the night to come, so that darkness could embrace him as the Sun’s curvature dropped below the horizon, so that he could embrace the youthful body that he believed was his true, rightful form.

Another glance to the sky, another scowl appeared upon the old brute’s face. The minutes seemed to drip by slower in the summer, the scorching heat doing nothing for his thin, unhealthy pelt and skin. He didn’t care, he hated this body anyway; maybe if it rotted completely away he would only ever see his true form? In his heart he knew this to be untrue, for though he often starved himself of food and water when in this form, when the Sun rose, it always stole his younger, healthier body away from him again. A racking cough brought his uneasy steps to a halt. Where was he? Eyes, desperate for an escape, peered out from behind sagging lids, silently hopeful.

Silently pleading.