From the caves, he ran.

An ebony shape of colossal proportions, drenched in sweat, dirt, dust, and filth. He did not stop. He did not rest. Even when each breath was agony and his lungs demanded respite, Vincent did not give it. He pressed on, even when he could no longer run, hooves dragging in the dirt, massive, bulking head held pitifully low to the ground so that his muzzle nearly brushed the earth. Dull, molten-gold oculars stared upon the earth only inches away from his face, but he did not see it.

No. The only thing that crossed the mammoth's vision was the sight of the Hellion Prince, of the Leviathan and destroyer. Abraham. It fueled him, driving him, pushing him until he could scarce walk, think, or breathe.

... Run...

Thoughts were fleeting, lost in an abyss of haze and exhaustion. Thick, ivory feathered legs shook and wobbled with each and very step, tripping over himself and earth alike. It was a miracle that he hadn't fallen to the ground in debilitating fatigue. Every aching muscle, every over-used joint groaned in protest with every dragging step, and shot lungs burned with every jagged, gasping intake of breath. Sweat caked dirt and dust upon his large, hulking hide, turning slick ebony into a crusty, brown-gray coat of mess. He looked like death personified... And Vincent felt very close to it.

In the back of his mind, there was a voice screaming at him to stop, to rest, to take stock of his surroundings and find out just where his panicked mind had taken him... But locations meant nothing to him. Not now. Not in this oblivious mush his mind had become. Perhaps he just needed to find another place to hide. Yes.

The only thing that cut through his panicked litany of nothing was the sound of rushing water nearby. The stallion's swollen tongue pressed upwards against his pallet, dry and dusty, and a body-wracking guffaw of a cough left his lips at thought of water. Water... When was the last time he'd had a drink?

Blinking slowly, Vincent's molten-gold oculars came back into focus, and for the first time since escaping the Heart Caves and the Leviathan, he took stock of his surroundings. It was... Beautiful, in a strange, deceiving sort of way. Where in the Gods was he? A sight, however, caused any question to leave his numb mind. A river. A river. Maybe not a river, but a brook, or stream... Or something. It didn't matter. It was water.

With pathetically slow steps, Vincent dragged his considerable bulk to the edge of the stream, uncaring if any were around to see him. Suddenly, the only thing that his mind demanded was to drink, to quench his insatiable thirst, and sucking in a large breath, the dusty Shire plunged his entire head into the cool water up to his ears. Maw opening, the stallion slurped up the liquid greedily, relishing in the cool essence that coated his tongue, quenched his thirst, swept away the dirt and grime that had collected in his mouth and throat from his mad-dash across Helovia... And savored the coolness that settled in the pit of his stomach, replacing the previous feeling of sick anxiety.

It was only when he was sure his lungs would collapse from holding his breath for so long did Vincent pull his head back out of the stream, letting water dribble from his mouth, tongue lolling about and savoring every single droplet of liquid. Heaven. It was Heaven... At least, until golden oculars spotted the figure a hare's breath downstream. White and spotted, and so incredibly tiny with billowing wings upon her fine, dainty shoulders... But she instilled nothing but terror once again. How long had she been there?!

The giant, a powerhouse of strength and raw muscle, a stallion all of nineteen hands, froze like a deer in the face of a predator, nostrils flaring as a mighty snort pushed itself from his breast. He would not speak... Could not speak.

No... No, not again. Please, not again. His heart couldn't take it.

"S-s-s..." He tried to speak, but nothing came out save a croaking, worn stutter. "St... S-stay b-b-b-ba-a... Ack."

@[Myrrine]

Well if I don't surface soon I may never
And say farewell to this odyssey

Wide, molten-gold oculars eyed the child with obvious nervousness, the rune marring his right eye seeming to spark to life with a dull, resonating glow. His eyes, deep pools of unbridled emotion, also glowed dully, expressing the fact that he was struggling with some bout of intense emotion. One large, dinner-plate hoof slid back from the stream, then another, large muscles twitching and tense and ready to propel the hulking beast from the shoreline, and away from this little winged creature should she prove to be a threat...

All Vincent could see was this youth of white and black, and while she seemed unassuming and innocent given her age... So had Abraham. A youngster when they had first crossed paths in the Threshold of Helovia, the headstrong, demonic colt had grown, and had seemed to have actively sought out Vincent in hopes of separating his head from his neck. No... Just because this creature, this child was young, frail, and tender looking, did not mean that she was safe. He wasn't fooled. The only individuals it seemed he had been around who didn't try and drink his blood had been his brothers... Especially Archibald. Oh, how he yearned for his twin...

... What would you think of me now, brother? Cowering from children?

Dainty spots decorated her coat, and the black brute's faintly glowing eyes roamed the filly's petite frame, over growing muscle and thin, toothpick-like legs. Well, maybe not to her, but to him, many things were small... Soft hazel oculars regarded him with a surprising amount of kindness from beneath dark, elegant lashes, and for a long moment Vincent simply stared unabashedly at her. Gauging her. Wondering when she would gnash teeth in his direction and lunge for his jugular.

And then... The She-demon spoke, and her voice wasn't like that of a demon at all. Soothing, encouraging, refreshing, gentle... Warm. Loving.

Still, the abruptness of her sweet, melodic vocals caused the gargantuan stallion to balk, head snapping upward and hooves scrabbling one step back. 'I won't move, Sir,' she stated softly, comfortingly, as though she was the one in the presence of a frightened colt, 'I will stay right here, but I don't want to leave you alone in the state you're in.' She went on to say more, but it was lost on him. Vincent's mind swam with her words. 'State that you're in...?' Twisting his head, the ebony clad Shire glanced back at himself, taking note of the dirt and grime, sweat and dust, matted his hair. It was only after he looked back to her that her later words seemed to take root within his large cranium. A bath...? A friend? Did she want to be his friend?

His only friend had been his brothers... And even then, that had been fleeting, since he had been certain that She would send them to slit his throat and collect his head. Perhaps, even, only Archibald had been a friend... But he had been blood. He had been more. He had been Vincent's everything.

"I..." Desperately words tried to form themselves from his throat, his deep voice a pitch higher due to his uncertainty, of his fear and extreme anxiety. With the words that tried to form from his lips, the beast's rune and eyes began to glow brighter, and his sides began to heave in panic. What did he say? Should he run? Should he hide? Still, in a fit of rare boldness pushed forth and nurtured by the kind hazel eyes of this uniquely winged filly, Vincent managed to croak out a few more, stuttering words. "I... V-Vincent. My n-n-name is Vincent."

@[Myrrine]

ooc: amg I love them so much I'm dying

Well if I don't surface soon I may never
And say farewell to this odyssey

Myrrine.

That was her name.

Large ears slowly perked forward as she introduced herself with poise and elegance that Vincent hardly expected a child to know how to use. She proceeded to speak of his eyes, and how they glowed beautifully, and that made the stallion balk a little more. Head raising high, hooves scrabbling at the dirt and grass, the brute snorted fearfully. They did? His eyes glowed? Oh... Oh, of course. He remembered now. In his fear and anxiety, the large beast often forgot his little defect. It made hiding while terrified horribly troubling and damn-near impossible, for enemies and predators could pick him out in darkness with ease.

"M-Myrrine..." He said softly, tongue rolling in his mouth as he voiced the youth's very own name with little stutters, as though tasting the name and trying to place it. Myrrine. Molten-gold oculars narrowed in contemplation.

He would remember her, this little winged she-child. Her voice, her sweet scent, and how when she spoke, Vincent felt like a living soul for the first time in a long time. He'd remember it all.

There was no initiation upon meeting this child, unlike every other youth he had ever greeted. There was no mutilation, no murder, no flashing of hooves and teeth, no fighting that lead to death, no blood for the child to drink... Like when Brother-Knox was born. Vincent visibly shuddered in revulsion and rekindled terror at remembering the day that Knox had drawn his first breath, free of Mandrake's loins. Of how Mother - She - had ordered Vincent to act, to pull forth that wretched halter from the Sentinel and strap it to his young, new-born brother's head.

The brute's large chest began to shudder, his lungs suddenly unable to draw enough breath to fill his frame as his wrought and wretched mind drew him back into that terrible, awful time. Archibald had been his only solace, the only one who loved him for not being a good son. But he had tried! He had always tried! Vincent had always tried to be a good son...

So lost as he was within his own wretched reverie, Vincent was oblivious to how the young she-child, how Myrrine had ventured to the side of the pond once more and had dipped one thin, dainty hoof within the cool morning waters. The squeal that erupted from her tiny mouth caused Vincent to jump, the massive bulk of his body jerking to the right and away from the sound of terror. Of pain. Of agony and suffering and make it stop, make it STOP!

I'll be a good son! I'll be a good son! Stay AWAY!

The words would not come, his breath would not draw, and his heart... His heart continued to beat, even though Vincent wished nothing more than for it to stop. Golden glowing eyes brightened considerably in his sudden bout of memory-driven panic, and Vincent's large, dinner-plate hooves were almost ready to move and run when Myrrine spoke.

She spoke.

And salvation took him.

Like a soothing, minty balm coated by loving hands over a crude, stinging burn, Myrrine's sweet, apologetic voice mollified the black brute's terror, sinking through the sludge-like fear that clung to his mind and wiped it all clean. Her voice, welcome and familiar, caused the stark glow of golden-eyes to dull, until finally there was no glowing left. Only sad, scared molten-gold oculars. Her words didn't register within his mind, not at first, but near the end of her sweet, song-like voice, Vincent understood.

She wanted to help him bathe.

"A-Alright," Vincent choked out, her calmness, her gentleness and kindness pushing him to speak, "You... You c-can help, Myrrine. I d-don't mind." Her help or the cold water that awaited. She was not like the others. She was not like Abraham. Like Mandrake. No... She was far more than they, like Archibald, for she was good. Because of this, he could trust her... He would trust her.

Slowly, as though the water may grab hold of his legs and rip them from his very body, Vincent stepped into the cool liquid, ready to bolt at a moment's notice. It was rather frigid, but he welcomed it, and slowly the hulking beast sank down to his knees within the pond, dirt and filth tainting the pristine water. With a soft, hitched grunt, Vincent shifted so that he was laying halfway upon his side, tucking his thickly feathered legs close to his body. This way, Myrrine could reach his back and withers... Hopefully.

Letting the cold water soak through his being and wash the muck from his black hide, Vincent eyed the she-child once again. Her wings were quite extraordinary, and rather pretty. They suited her. "Do... Do you fly?" He wondered what it was like, to take to the skies and fly like a bird. How very easy it would be to escape danger and troubles.

@[Myrrine]

I clutched my life
And wished it kept.
My dearest love I'm not done yet