He doesn’t want to leave Em.
It’s not because he’s a bleating child. It’s not because he cannot fathom a moment spent apart from his mother’s warm, safe side. Eldrian is nearly two, after all, quickly on his way to adulthood. He’s had the mind of one for far longer than his eight seasons of life, anyway. But his heart flutters when she tells him to leave; he shakes in a way that he’s never shaken before. Because the shouts are so loud and the smoke is so heavy (even much later, once they’ve traveled a fair distance into the sage-brushed Deserts, does the scent linger on his star-dappled hide). Everyone is running and screaming and fighting. He sees blood, even – his first sight of it.
He can’t do anything for his dam, he knows, but he still hesitates to leave her.
But she watches him, her cornflower eyes harder than he’s ever seen them, until he turns tail and follows the other children. He feels like a coward the entire time. Two are younger than him, at least. He takes solace in the idea of protecting them, of herding them to the relative safety of the once light-mythical kingdom. Surely they will help, those dwellers of the dunes. Mother Em had told him about all of the different kingdoms, as much as she knew, anyway. She had said that the Deserts were a magical place with magical people. She said that they were powerful – a dynasty of dragons and mages – in the recent past. Of course, that can have changed by now. The boy hopes they will be welcome to stay until the danger has passed. He only hopes it does pass.
He hangs back from the trio, following at somewhat of a distance. When the other three siblings come to a stop, he makes an effort to catch up. It’s tough, though. Even in the middle of winter, the heat of the place is unlike even the Gates in summer. He tries a smile for the others, but it melts quickly from his face. Worry stirs his gut. It’s hungry for information he doesn’t have, desperate for news of his mother, his home that he cannot satisfy. Fortunately, it doesn’t take long for one sand-dweller to find them. Already he’s thirsty, and the colt thinks that the twins wouldn’t last much longer without complaining of their own exhaustion and thirst. That’s the way of most children, he thinks, having no basis for the thought.
The mare that greets them is striking. Her body is luminous gold with a sheen of silver in her mane and tail. Large wings stretch across her back (how strange it is for the boy who’s never seen a pair for himself). But it’s her voice that catches his attention the most. He’s always been a bookish boy, considering himself a scholar of the world, and her accent fascinates him. “We are fleeing our home, seeking safety in the hospitality of your sands, if we may.” His green-flecked eyes turn to the others, looking for back-up should the need arise. “I’m Eldrian”
Eldrian
gentleman son of Jason & Talulah