Fate whispers to him,
"You cannot withstand the storm."

Blackness.

For being such an obsession of the colt, he found he did not like it the moment it descended on his eyes. His small, black-rimmed ears pinned flush with his head as his milk teeth snapped together in an attempted menace. But then Kia’s scream filled his senses, amplified tenfold by his lack of sight and his ears whipped forward, unseeing eyes wide and straining against this foreign darkness that was so unlike (and yet so scarily similar) the the darkness in his chest. Blindly his slender, ink dipped legs stumble towards his sister, following her screech, unknowingly (yet also knowingly) mimicking the same steps she took towards him. Awkwardly, his outstretched and blindly reaching muzzle harshly bumped against the closest part of Kiada to get within his reach.

And then it lifted. Vision returned, smoke gone. Frantically his eyes search his sisters, finding nothing but the welling of tears in her eyes from the smoke— were his eyes watering? Strangely not, perhaps his magic gave him reprieve? Or perhaps his eyes were too dry from working his magic… where was the ashen cloud?

His head whipped towards the deer, instead finding a tall, golden man standing and speaking— reprimanding them. The princeling already well knew that he loathed reprimands. His small ears, again, fall flush with his head, bright eyes narrowing as he squared his small chest while alongside his sister. Though, for being a foal, there was some small ounce of command that his father’s stature had endowed him with.

Bright, scowling eyes stare at the man, his ear flicking towards Kia as she stomped her hoof. But his attention remained on the Laurelin as he spoke of defenseless rabbits.’ A disparaging retort bubbled on his coltish lips, about to ask if this gold-dipped man knew that because he sought defenseless prey, such as fillies and colts.

But, before the surprisingly sneer words for one so young come out of his lips, the stallions gold-leafed tongue is wagging once more and—true to form— it is alluding to things that the colt desperately wishes to know about. “Tembovu.” The name resonates in him, a figure present only in name and absent in the foals’ life, told only good things of him by their dam. Yet the things she didn’t say, the ugly things, were enforced by his absence.

His eyes flicker to Kiada, “Father hasn’t taught us anything…” and a darkness flashes in the colt’s eyes, before they sweep back to the Laurelin. He nodded his small-horned head in agreement with his twin, gaze sharpening as he spoke, “They’ve taught us nothing, but you could teach us.” The snide anger slowly disappears as he continues, “Did you steal our vision? How do you have so much control over it?” Now, outright eagerness begins to spread its fingers across his black-lined face, replacing the arrogant prince with a keen colt.

and he whispers back

"I am the storm."

Kianzo