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01-23-2017, 05:46 PM
Albrecht
Every squeal and squeak of protest drags the stallions attention away from the monster and down to his sons limp form. The boy’s clearly in pain, his left wing bent at an unnatural angle, his body undoubtedly bruised by the impact of both bone and ground. He hovers over the mare and her tiny patient, agitated, wanting more than anything to leave this place of danger and uncertainty. Thankfully the Time Menders ministrations seem to be taking, because between his writhing and piteous bleating the boys wing finally starts to fold properly back to his side, his spidery legs to find traction beneath him. In another moment he’s upright, teetering, and the stallion moves to support him without hesitation, lending his shoulder and side as a crutch.
He bends his thin and unmuscled neck around to his side, breathing over the boys disheveled forelock, supporting and protecting him with his own sallow form. The boy seems so much smaller now, frailer, without his laughter and exuberance. It pains the old stallion to see him this way, a physical prick of his senses somewhere deep beneath his narrow breast.
“We can shelter in the Grove.” He murmurs, “It’s not far.” The old stallions weathered face attempts to smile, to lessen the gravity of the boys wounds. He reaches to nose gently against that tiny, beardless chin, to encourage him and convince him of his own ability, because no matter how much support his father may lend him, only his own will can move his legs and fill his lungs.
"Alby talks" 'Strom talks'
OOC // @Saoirse
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