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He will die should he not eat, stuff the pale belly that lies hollowed and tucked up tight against ribs lean and sharp against hide white; each muscle is tight, skin taut over it; and his eyes burned with a fierce fervor much more alive than the sack of bones and skin he has become. His name is Valentine, Rapha remembers, and Rapha fears him. The stallion had caused pain. Fierce, burning pain, burning pain.
Rapha had experienced many types of pain, but never had he been scorched before by licking, hungry flames flaring red and gold and yellow; colors of blood and pain. The gash would, indeed, have been but a light, long line down his neck, but the stallion's horn had been flying banners of fire, and so the golden edges had been charred and scorched, curling up, peeling away to expose bloody black flesh, a single line of brilliant red drawn into it, where the flesh had been cut to muscle. Pain was one thing the slave could not suffer through- he feared it more than he feared the unicorns.
Should Rapha be upon the outskirts of the Basin wide and somewhat safe? No- but he was looking for his Lady, his Master, who had disappeared sometime in Frostfall, leaving him with unicorns rabid for his blood. Where was she, the magnificent princess, where was the fine elegant Lady he so adored and admired with a haunting fervor? "Eat, sir of the Basin. You will die too soon should you not." Fleet-footed, short-stepping, eyes lowered- that is how he approaches, to stop a safe ten feet away from the stallion who scorched his neck.
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![[Image: bacchus_by_ladyfey-d5jbta3.png]](http://fc00.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2012/302/6/1/bacchus_by_ladyfey-d5jbta3.png)
