He would have said anything, done anything, and been anything to stop this act before it had happened. Though now wasn’t the time for grief and regret to take hold. Instead he ran on, limbs burning with a recognizable pain from distance tracking. Intake heaved and gasped, the dryness in throat had only begun to bring new waves of distress. Midas gulped air, unable to get enough oxygen to stop painful spasms tightening in chest.

A frame rode upon his back, strung across at the withers and tucked just behind his wings; he tried to smooth out a normally boxy gait and failed miserably. Each step would jolt the little body he so feverously carried across the lands. Fina flew above, unable to offer anything to the situation other than an encouraging chirp when Midas stumbled.

“Please!” he all but screamed within, “Lord spare him…I beg of you…take my life, but spare his!” Prayer was sent to heaven only to be followed by a colorful string of curse words when steep incline forced body into slant and lungs expanded to draw in a vain amount of air. Physical concerns were the least of his problems though, Midas had sent the blue roan on ahead to find Onni, she could fly faster than he could run.

Hopefully the results of his choice would produce fruit.

“Hold on Son!!”

Even with bursts of adrenaline, the strength in mortal bones was failing; magic and precious energy had been wasted in battling a foolish bastard that caused said grief. Just thinking about the blood stallion set teeth to grade upon each other until the taste of copper splashed upon tongue. True hate was a trigger he had never experienced. To despise something enough for blood to be set at boiling point….it was an emotion unfamiliar to this lad before today.

As much as hatred could cause pain and emotional emptiness, it could also provide a drive…..

Love and the thought of revenge were what kept his legs pumping even when sharp stones caused swelling pain. Home…it came within sight. The familiar vast expansion of sand usually welcoming in warming ways—now appeared as a beacon of hope. He didn’t offer pause and instead drove on under the noonday sun. Foamy sweat flecked neck and shoulders, washing his pelt in dark dirty colors where onyx met bleached fur.

Weak bellows sprang free with each breath, he called to Onni. The one healer that he personally knew and trusted above others, “Help me,” throaty tenors whispered into the dry desert wind… You must come... Throats General sprinted until the ground became too soft and heavy for feet to move at such a brisk pace. Throbs of heat in right forefoot warned of lameness. Skull fell forward, gaze searched for a familiar sign of life; pitless orbs grew fearful. Trembling limbs finally caved in, forcing frame forward and onto his knees--granules of sand the only welcoming cradle to be offered.

“Cera?” the father asked between breaths, voice hauntingly soft and vulnerable.