He was running. Sweat coated every inch of the behemoth's cumbersome bulk, every section of black, ebony hide. Mud coated ivory feathers, clinging to his hooves and weighing him down, preventing him from running, clutching and splattering into his tail, his rump, his undercarriage and belly, staining everything a sickening shit-brown. Wide, terrified glowing-golden oculars rolled as his body pumped him forward, slipping and sliding, the rune over his right eye bright and blinding and the only source of light in this damnable darkness.

Running, running, running... Darkness around him. Rain poured. Lightning struck overhead, illuminating his surroundings - a forest? - and the specter that harried him. Mandrake.

NO! STAY AWAY!

His mind, free of his normal stutters of insecure speech, screamed at the apparition that simply wouldn't let him be. She was there, haunting him, chasing him, teeth gnashing and grayed muzzle splattered with the blood of those she had killed. Those she had mutilated. Those she had desecrated.

I'LL BE A GOOD SON! I'LL BE A GOOD SON!

A mantra of the dying repeated in his head, vocals high with panic, with distress, the usual tenor of his baritone higher due to his panic.

ARCHIBALD! MYRRINE! Save me, save me, savemesaveme!

His screams fell on deaf-ears. No one would save him now. The specter was so close, teeth gnashing, laughter bubbling from a blood-splattered mouth, yellowed teeth stained with crimson, with the life-force of others. Her hooves did not touch the ground, as though she were flying, stalking him, she the predator and he... He the prey.

He tripped.

She lunged.

Teeth gnashed, and blood sprayed the ground.

----

"N-n-n-nooooooo!"

The bellowing, blood-chilling scream tore from dark lips, and it was that bleating, pathetic cry that jerked the stallion awake. Eyes snapped open revealing glowing irises, the rune upon his cheek blinding and bright. Sweat coated every inch of him, smelling of musk and fear, and the sides of his barrel heaved with panic and sickness.

Around him, tall grass grew, obscuring his impressive frame from the world around him and slowly Vincent raised his head, shifting his body and pulling large, pillar-like legs closer to his barrel. Above him the sun shone down brightly, the Tallsun heat merciless, and slowly the stallion blinked to rid himself of the memories of his nightmares.

A nightmare.

That was all that it was. Mandrake was not here... She was not here. He was still alive.

At his side a small, pathetic sound whimpered and reached his ears, and faded eyes glanced down to the gray, wire-haired bundle that was Claribel. The Irish Wolfhound pup whined in distress, sensing her companion's pain, confusion, and agony. Large paws, even for a pup, situated themselves upon the Shire's folded forelegs, tongue lolling, bluish-brown eyes staring deeply at her bonded.

Through their bond - such a strange, foreign, intimate thing -, Vincent could feel her worry. None could understand him so intimately. None had, besides Archibald, his twin.

"I'm o-o-okay, Claribel," he assured, even though he felt as though he'd simply fall apart at any second. At least his breathing was slowing back to normal... The Wolfhound pup huffed a breath and then moved to allow the stallion to stand, and that was when the two of them heard a sound. A beckoning sound.

'Vince? Are you here?' It couldn't be. 'It's Myrrine!' It was!

Head twisting, nostrils flaring, eyes wide and searching, Vincent struggled for a brief moment to unfold his massive legs, and careful not to step on Claribel, the brute pushed himself up to his full, grand height. Twisting his head, ears perked forward, searching for any signs of her... And like an angel in the distance, a winged beauty, a blissful, cool drink after a terrible nightmare, there she was.

Oh, Myrrine...

She had grown, Vincent noted as he bleated a beckoning nicker in her direction. My, had she grown! While she was still far smaller than he, Myrrine had grown during their time apart. Her head was far more lady-like with her advanced age, beautiful wings proud upon her dainty shoulders, and seeing her was like a balm to his terror.

"M-M-Myrinne!" He called, his vocals still high from his lingering terror of that awful dream, "M-Myrinne!" At his side, Claribel barked and yipped and raced forward through the tall grasses towards the winged girl. The Wolfhound pup skid to a stop just before Myrrine's dainty hooves, twirling around, chasing her tail, knowing that this female equine was a dear friend from the warmth that radiated through she and Vincent's bond.

Slowly, Vincent followed after the wire-haired pup, his golden eyes soft and warm, dinner plate hooves squishing grass and dirt beneath his incredible weight. "Myrinne," he said softly with little stutters, "A-are you w-well? You... You've g-grown." Turning, Claribel spun and trotted to Vincent's side, yipping up at him. The beast chuckled, albeit nervously. "This... This is Claribel. She... She l-likes you already."

@[Myrrine]

ooc: Myrrine gives me Vincent muse, okay? Okay.

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

Even as the nervous questions stuttered their way out of the stallion's dark lips, Vincent could easily spot that something was amiss with the dainty angel standing before him. Hazel eyes that shone so gently, so passionately with love and life were wilted with anxiety, with uncertainty... What had bothered Myrrine so? Large ears tilted back, a growing ball of ambivalence and anxiety pooling in his belly.

Had something happened? Did he say something he shouldn't have. Ever so faintly the black giant began to tremble, uneasiness gripping him with a sickening hold as he frantically thought back to ever stuttered word. Did he offend her with his familiarity? Was it wrong of him to greet her so informally? So welcomingly, as though he had greeted a sister? Was it wrong, because he hadn't been a good son? He didn't deserve such kindness from Myrrine... Such friendship. Such love.

Vincent had killed. Without thinking, fueled by fear and desperation of Her, he had slain. He had obeyed. He had tasted the blood of those that She had demanded he kill...

Brother Knox. A halter in his teeth. Blood, oh Gods so much blood!

A high-pitched yip from Claribel snapped Vincent from his macabre memories, those terrible flashbacks, and he swallowed hard before focusing once more on the butterfly-kissed angel before him. Oh, Myrrine... As though realizing that she was the center of attention, Claribel sat upon her hind with a furiously wagging tail, bushy face held high as bluish-brown orbs lingered upon the spotted princess. Perhaps not a princess, but a she-warrior. Yes, that was much more fitting for Myrrine.

Claribel whined and barked, a sharp sound that once more snapped Vincent to attention. The Wolfhound pup had an uncanny ability to snap the stallion from his dark musings before they had gotten too far... Her presence was a blissful reprieve, for it wasn't often that Vincent found himself in the company of others.

It was shortly after such thoughts that Myrrine pressed her tiny frame up against his own colossal one. What a sight they must make? She, a foal of perhaps half-a-year with a heart of gold, and he, a cowardly giant, pressed together so intimately as though they had known each other their whole lives... He felt at peace, being so close to her, this spotted, winged creature with a gentle, loving heart. It had only been Archibald who had ever made him feel this way, and Vincent hoped that Myrrine knew just how special she was to him.

'You scared me,' Myrrine said worriedly, 'Are you alright? Please tell me what happened...'

Tell her what happened?

Nostrils flaring, quivering, eyes twitching to and fro with the anxiety of a drug addict, Vincent froze. Tell her...? Tell her of his nightmares? The terrors that haunted him? Of Mandrake? No. NO. Fear bristled anew within the black behemoths massive breast, nostrils flaring, golden eyes starting to glow faintly with fear, with desperation and anxiety and no, no, no, nonono...

He couldn't tell her. Couldn't. This was beyond simply not wanting to tell Myrrine of his mother, of Mandrake, the She-Demon, the Defiler, the Murderer, the Killer of Fathers, the Rapist of Souls. He did want to tell her, to divulge the horrors and perhaps lift the heavy weight of his damned soul, but he couldn't. Knowing Her name would forever curse Myrrine, and Vincent couldn't live with himself if revealing such knowledge put the winged angel in danger.

She would kill Myrrine if She knew, oh yes. Or... Or... If he could have paled in horrific realization, he would have. Golden eyes sparked to life, glowing fiercely as he realized that She would make Vincent kill Myrrine. Oh, Gods! No, no, no!

"I... I h-h-had a n-n-n-nightmare," Vincent muttered, shaking his head and stepping away from his spotted rock, "P-please, I... I c-c-can't t-talk about it. I... I'm s-s-sorry, Myrrine. N-not yet. Please."

Please don't make me. Please understand. Please know I'm doing this to keep you safe. He needed time... To breathe, to think, to put the words together so that they wouldn't strangle him when he tried to speak. Someday, perhaps, he would be able to tell Myrrine of his past, of her... But until then, he prayed she would have patience with him. A broken tool, he was, misused and misplaced... But even the most abused of tools could be mended.

Claribel whined pathetically as she sensed the brute's sheer amount of distress, practically dancing from paw to paw in front of the two equines. Looking to Myrrine, she whined again, blue-brown eyes pleading.

Vincent spoke again, desperate to change the subject. His eyes flicked around, settling upon Myrrine's face, her neck, her hooves, his hooves, Claribel, and finally settled on the butterfly wings that sprouted from the filly's spotted shoulders. They were far larger than they were the last time that they had crossed paths...

"C-can you fl-fly n-now?"

@[Myrrine]

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