I am finally home-bound. I stand between the eerily shaped, swaying silhouettes of sparse forest, eyes peering ahead into the quicksilver, waning moonlight. It fills the area like smoke from a distant forest fire and I'm caught up, smothered mentally, wishing with every drop of blood in my body that I can wheel on my haunches and get the hell away from Heloiva. Long shudders send me into a vibrational attack, and my eyes widen until black, gold, and white are visible. I feel glazed in this stare between the moon and I. Between Mandrake and I. She, the silent devil continues to pull at my conscious, sending me deeper into myself, wishing on a star somewhere that I will soon be slain. I imagine my twin’s hoof will be the sweetest touch across my cheekbone, the most beautiful hour of my own slipping life. What a beautiful pity it would be, sleeping away in the coming time.

   I face the solemn gusts as they pool in, Orangemoon leaves tousling in their grace. This is a nice last sight, I think, feeling my sweaty, anxious mane lift in the breeze. Numb thoughts have come and gone, but never have they been so soft, so pleasing. I've come to myself. I've opened my last door. I face the choice of walking through, entering the Threshold walls for the last time, seeing the golden eyes of my twin and then the crooning light of Neique. All in one moment. All in one decision. All in one swift shift of brain neurons.

   I can't do it, I think again, remembering the gentle touch of the Orangemoon breeze, the comforting hideaway of my season-long stay. It's not that the world has ever been nice to me. It's not that I deserve to stay — I'm afraid to go. But there is the question ringing freely in my mind, a lit dove in morning light, which stands away from my confusion and my forlorn thoughts. I wonder how many other sons lay dead in Mandrake's name? How many before the inseparable twins, Archibald and I, walk this gracious Loorien, to spread around more of our scummy lineage? How many more of us have been baptized in our father's blood, and sipped his features onto our own? What kind of curse consumes the more of us that have survived her tenacious spider web and escaped on God given wings of strength and valor? What kind of gift am I returning?

   With light in my eyes, I see out clearly now the closeness insecurity bid me, I see my own ambiguous fortune in the moon's sinister face. The hours surely seem long and telling of what ghouls reap ahead in the Helovian woods if the sun may rise to light their faces.

   But instead of ghastly beasts, out bounds a youthful spirit, laden with mischief and surprise of a familiar bearing. I leap backwards over the hill, hind end screaming to wheel, tail tucking, eyes widening. I quite literally shake the ground. Windswept strands bounce into my eyes and my body is more tense than tall. But the creature, low to the ground, keeps coming, yelling all the way. He’s seen me, I am his target. I must stand my ground, I think while planting feathered stockings into the soil. He’s just a kid. But who truly knows what he possess?

   My body shakes in its cage, rooted somehow to the earth as everything I know tells me to run. From what I see of its nearing shape, it’s a foal, harmless in youth. But it reminds me of Konx and the sins that taint him, that will pull him further down the continuous grooves of life’s throat. He’s carrying something.

   Hopefully it’s something I can impale myself on.

   But as he nears, I see that he's holding a woven basket, tightly wrapped in folds of green seaweed lays an egg. I stand taller than most youthful trees, but I cannot trust the possibility of what creature inside may forsake the world. It looks ancient. It looks valuable. It looks cursed.

   But all the while, as I stare haplessly into this basket, he's talking through proud eyes and over-joyous recognition of some kind. I'm still shaking, and I back away form him, feeling terror slip into my eyes as his tone instantly changes. His tiny, oddly colored eyes narrow and his horn aims directly at my throat. I fall back onto my hind, wheeling in the air as the razor-tip glints in Mandrake's moonlight glow, landing on hooves with a shake of the earth. My body stiffens, sidestepping through his assault of mature words, and they sting like bees on my hide.

   I think I should let him stab me.

   "Speak your name, face-stealer!"

   "Vincent!" I halt abruptly, molten eyes thickening, falling into the routine of his command. I don't remember what he called me, but it made me think of Archibald. I stand, silent, ready for his next command.