The dark prince stood, uncertainly, at his family’s home in the Edge. He had kept somewhat of a distance from here since the Kaos fight… Right after his return, he had been nearly confined to these three caves by his mother and sister, rarely let out of their sight once ‘found’ by Thranduil. His sire, though not entirely present due to his Kingly duties, also spent as much time with them as possible when the Elephant was there. But now…

“Mo—” his deep voice broke off; it had been so long since he’d called for his dam like this. Months—since before he had been stolen from the Basin by Bellisma… vaguely he wondered how the beautiful, small, but quick golden mare was. Some strange part of him missed her, her company, her smiles, he attention…

“Mom?” his sudden, acute wave of loneliness pushed the full word out of his mouth, dark-masked face sweeping around between the three cave openings. His ears flicked back in uncertain shame, his innate pride not wanting him to call for his mother, but his yearling and hurting heart needing her. So, with dark anxiety, he waited in the alcove above the cliffs, shaded from the Tallsun heat by the ancient tree’s canopy that spread above him.

Blue eyes brightened slightly the moment Rexanna’s golden form appeared in the shadowed murk of the large cave. The anxious lines of shame and worry smoothing slightly from his face—only to redouble the moment his dam came into full view in the mists’ muted sunlight. Ribs moved beneath her thin, ivory and cream skin. Her features were prominent—and not with the sculpted edge of beauty. No. This was different… gaunter, wearier.

Black-rimmed ears, which had been straining forward and searching, tilted backwards as he saw the tired slant of her normally kind and buoyant smile. Something tightened in his dark chest—like a knot. But not quite. More like a slab of bricks that slowly lowered over his heart and squeezed it with a constant pressure that grew and grew (and would continue to grow). It was worry, the unique worry a child has for their parent. Or son for his mother.

Any thought of his own qualms or sorrows (Kiada) calmed from a raging fire to simmering ashes in his skull. His own muzzle instinctively mirrored her own as she reached out—but his lingered, nostrils flaring as he took in his dam’s scent. A scent of safety; a childhood weakness he allowed himself for this short moment as he gently pressed the side of his muzzle against hers.

“Mayi,” was his deep, murmured greeting; meaning so much more in the earthen, primal language of his father than in the common tongue. “I’ve—” he paused, thinking of just what he wanted to say. His lined, anxious, sharp eyes studied her own gaunt and worried face for a moment, before pushing out hushed and hurried words, “I’ve missed you.”

And then he fell silent, unsure of how to say more.

---


Mayi - mother

He resisted her embrace only for a moment—it was the last remnant of his foolish pride—before he folded into her thin neck. His own neck sought to squeeze along her prominent, gaunt withers. There was a gentle fierceness in his motions, but he assuredly was handling his delicate mother with care.

Black-rimmed ears swiveled forward at her quiet hum that vibrated against the gilded skin of his neck. The smallest of smiles curved up the corners of his black lips as he pressed his muzzle gently into his dam’s shoulder.

Though the rare, small smile faded as Rexanna spoke again, speaking of how things were difficult for her and that she missed him, too. Intense, blue eyes stare and study her as she offered and assuring smile—though he found it not assuring, as any need to give an assurance meant there was something not quite right.

So, instead, he simply watched as she quietly laughed and asked after himself, “What happened when you were gone? Was Thranduil kind to you?” He scoffed slightly at the idea of the Laurelin being ’kind,’ his unkind laugh not aimed at his dam but at the idea of the Laurelin’s kindness. While the dark prince did not know the type of relationship the golden man shared with his dam, he knew that the gilded-tongue man was more rigid mentor than friend.

“He taught me much,” was his slow answer, gaze dipping away from Rexanna to stare into the cave’s shadows, “He’s a gifted man,” there was an equal part of jealousy and respect moving in the undercurrents of his voice, “I owe him.” It was, perhaps, the first time the colt had shown respect for anyone other than himself and Kiada.

And then he paused for a long, few, moments—a heavy pause as he considered just what to tell his dam of his time away from his family. Then, with a deep breath and a gaze that did not leave the cave’s shadows his low voice rolled, “A mare…stole me from the Basin—Bellisma,” shame colored the strong features of his face at the idea he could be taken against his will, as if he were powerless, “She’s small and gold and… and beautiful. She said she had watched me, seen my power, but wanted to teach me to… ‘use it properly.’” He paused, confusion entering into his eyes; he had been so young, so lonely, so angry, without a father and mother whose heart was elsewhere…

“She cared for me and I… I care for her,” he paused again, ink-dipped legs shifting uncomfortably as his pubertal body remember how he cared for the lovely, desert-born mare, “But she left me and I… I wasn’t sure where home was until Thranduil found me.” His gaze sharpened then, anger replacing the uncertainty as he looked to his dam, “I saw Kiada with another colt while I was gone—she was fawning over him, as if I was all but forgotten.” These words came out in a rush, angry and hurt, revealing the truth of his distance and abandonment.

And then he fell silent, his eyes falling to the leaf-covered cave floor.