For the first time in all his seasons of living on the peninsula, the golden royal gazed upon the borders of the land he ruled with reluctance, with conflict smoothed upon his features like caking clay. His time with Evangeline had been soothing, a reminder of the simpler things, and in her eyes he had seen understanding and compassion. The gentle Philosopher had once been a Lead herself, after all. It was not until she convinced him with soft words and concerned eyes to remain with her in the lands outside their borders when he sought her out- to shake off the heavy weight he always shouldered, both for the herd and for the Queen that indulged in what he had just done far more- that he had yet to leave the Edge since his crowning. It was a mildly depressing thought. But the wise maiden had patched his worn hide and let him rest his mind, his fears, upon her shoulders. It had been painful, to give that weight to another, and yet the relief of the action had made his bones shake and skin tremble beneath her knowing orbs. Viewing the borders from an outsider's eyes was hard, an experience he hadn't felt since taking on the plentiful responsibilities of rebuilding and guiding the herd he'd die in an instant for.

Glass shone in splintered, pathetic fragments beneath the light, a jagged maw leading into the fogged darkness of the forest. A monster's mouth, prepared to devour and consume. Now, the golden warrior could see why Kahlua so desired to destroy what she'd worked endlessly on. A soft sigh escaped pale golden muzzle, shining white-blonde in the sunlight that crept above the trees almost tentatively. Strong shoulders shifted forward, umber walkers stretching to draw him forth, a walk of shame only he could understand, an emotion so strong yet invisible to those that looked to him infinitely for wisdom and protection. Kaj had never felt shackled by his flock, and yet he was seeing with each passing day that Kahlua was more inclined to deal with keeping spirits joyous than to take on matters of importance. And Kaj, raised from birth to believe that females were superior and should be protected and revered, had been unable to help protecting this suddenly strange, foreign doe that was everything he'd never seen.

Yet as he slides, silent and contemplative, into the lands he loved, he is soon to be held captive once more by his fierce affection for his ruling teammate. His name tugs at his aurels, loud and somewhat urgent, familiar in every sweet dip and sigh of a one-syllable name that tugs his stomach and forces his heart into his throat. He had not been gone more than half a day, had something gone wrong? And then it comes again, and he has never heard his name uttered in such a way before in his life, hears the scream as it shatters every inch of silent air that surrounds him. It rips into him like dull knives stabbing into his skin, drags a howl from a chordless throat to echo in its silence through his ears, the only sound he can hear in the distressing absence of her terrified wail is the pounding of his blood in his ears, war drums that spike his blood with spice and fire and the desire to kill whoever dared to force such a horrific scream for help from the painted maiden.

An archangel arises from the flames of his rage, a phoenix that will burn the pathetic imitator that will meet him at the end of the world, that will fall beneath wings that do not need fire to burn, beneath the weight of his vengeance and destruction. From his throat rises a bellow, no longer soundless in muted horror, a thunderous trumpeting of primal assurance; he is ready, and he will come for the fated hellion. It is a promise of his arrival; a declaration of war, of intimate, personal wrath that will shred and burn and take and devour whomever lay at the end of the path he now hunted.

Feathers spread as he rises, ripping into the skies, heaving heavily massed frame from the gravity of earth with sheer force of will and power of musculature. Beats the air into submission, sweat beading and foaming on pale flanks, drifting so low that scraggly tree tops snap upon his forelegs and draw blood to run in rivers down his skin. It is nothing compared to the blood he will shed when his prey has been cornered.

Icy shards of blue are hawklike, shredding the horizon as he scans for the source of the scream, for the already-dead foe that invoked such a response. He will taste their blood, he will send their soul to the pits of darkness that no wraith would ever venture into, and he would smile while he did it. Today, crimson rain would stain the golden fibers of his hide, the only armor he'd ever need even with the weight of the screaming child's craft upon his neck, and he would bask in the flow of it. It was a beautiful day, one he might have been reluctant to tarnish, but the demon had arisen and the storm had clutched his wild anger and molded it into something useful, something powerful, a driving force that would not be stopped.

Below, everything clears, and fury burns his gaze until everything is blurred red and black. BETRAYAL. Deep beneath the demon something primal roars and thrashes in weakened chains, bares its teeth and shudders beneath the weight of emotions so strong they bow its shoulders. BETRAYAL! It bellows so loud that Kaj's head hurts, and suddenly his languages are mixing and he's back in a place too cold and desolate for any good soul to survive in. The perfect soldier. The protector. In a family where closeness, loyalty and sacrifice were the ruling morals. The Storm Bringer had fought to understand these Helovians, to integrate himself, to bring them to his side and show them the power of the bonds he'd never cherished enough in his homeland.

They had wronged him in return.

The bitch would pay her weight in blood, would fall beneath the dagger she had dared to plunge into the back of her Queen, and her last image of life before the torment of her soul in the hell in which he would cast her to would be his bloodied smile and electric eyes.

"IK ZAL JE UIT ELKAAR SCHEUREN!"

His mind goes blank.