It had only been a week since he had returned to the cliffside lands of the Edge, slipping through unnoticed through the decrepit, cracked remains of the old Glass Wall. Almost fearfully he had returned, cream-kissed hooves stepping lightly and eyes nearly as wide as his nostrils, flaring and snorting and keeping vigilant for any demonic creatures that may try, once again, to tear him apart. The memories of last Orangemoon rang clear in his mind, when he had returned, young and hopefully and so eager to find his family... But to have been chased out by that wretched creature.

He had not been attacked upon returning home, but no one had been there to greet him, and perhaps that was for the best. He was no warrior heralding victory, but a coward with his tail tucked, and he deserved no good-will or celebrations come his arrival back home. His father, Suli, nor Laila had been around, and Luken remained quiet, staying out of the way of the new King and Queen.

Sometimes, Luken pretends that he isn't alone. On evenings and nights when the darkness is cresting in the sky and sending the sun into hiding, the young stallion speaks, just so that he didn't feel so isolated from the world around him. Soft vocals flow through the air, full of such yearning and companionship, such uncertainty and heart break... Sometimes he speaks out loud, sometimes to himself, sometimes to the trees around him, and sometimes to the figures that his eyes pretend to see dancing in the mists.

Laila, Destrier, Mirage... And even, whenever he is feeling particularly desperate, even Tor dances in the mists. The young stallion snorts at the thought. His mother had been long gone from his life nearly since he had been born, and she deserved not one thought from him. Luken was three summers old now; tall in height, broad and sculpted of hard muscle, and still trying to pull himself from the shadow of his father's greatness.

Were they alive? He hadn't seen Destrier nor Laila in over a year, but oh Gods how he wished they were alright. He yearned to see them again, to hear his father's voice, to feel his twin sister's warmth...

A call echoed through the trees, loud and beckoning and so painfully familiar that Luken stopped short, standing stock-still in the presence of no one but the trees. That beckoning call struck a place so deep within the young stallion, so profound that it caused Luken's ears to swivel forward, chocolate brown orbs widening. It was impossible, wasn't it? Was it...?

Does such things as 'impossible' truly exist? His mind whispered as though taunting him, and one hoof stretched out to take him towards that call, then another, and another, and before he knew it, Luken was thundering through the trees, his too-large body bumping into things with the clumsy grace of a colt who had yet to be fully grown. Low-hanging branches slapped at his eyes in his mad pursuit, but the mutt pressed on as though possessed, determination filling him in ways that it hadn't in a long, long time.

"Father?!" He called out through the trees, head tossing, hooves creating a thundering rhythm against the hard, earthen soil, "Father!"

It was him. It was Destrier. It had to be. There was no mistaking that call... Luken was more capable of forgetting his own voice than the soothing, gentle, proud vocals of the Friesian. Through the trees he bumbled, pace slowing to that of a trot with his knees snapping upwards, and as he crested the trees, there he was.

Twigs and leaves were tangled in Luken's ivory, crimped mane and tail, and while he looked particularly disheveled and quite messy with his sides heaving and nostrils flaring, there was no missing the glazed look of wonder that shone in his brown orbs. Destrier looked just as Luken remembered, except... Except...

"... Dad?"

Oh, Gods, what had happened? The draft-mutt's eyes, however inexperienced to the sight of wounds, could not miss the abrasions and gashes that so crudely flanked Destrier's body, and Luken was unable to approach. Frozen in his tracks by fear and horror, he could only stare at the Friesian that was so thoroughly beaten and abused, and wonder how the hell it had happened. His eyes sought out those of the bay tobiano stallion who stood with them, another face that Luken did not know, but his eyes did not linger upon him for too long before snapping his gaze back to Destrier.

Tentatively, Luken took a step forward. "... Pa?"