He sees her take the stone shadow, the only thing left of his birth mother, and there is nothing he can do. Not from here, with so much distance between them and legs too small to close the distance in enough time. For the first time in his very young life, the colt feels fury. It may only be a frozen echo of the once vibrant woman, but it is his mother.
Even as he bursts through the trees towards the windswept moors of the north, he does the only other thing a child would think to do at a time like this, he calls for his mama. Not the stone one stolen by a lightning bird, but the one that glows. The one that comforts. @[lilliana].
He is young and unpracticed, but the fractured visions would no doubt prove unmistakeable.
The flat, stone-strewn grasslands of Nerine prove no obstacle to the boy as he follows with a feverish intensity. Though he cannot hope to catch up to a creature in flight, he can know exactly where she has gone. He had found the birds and the insects and the rodents easy, their simplicity little obstacle to a boy filled with boundless curiosity and wild determination. Dizzying perhaps, but easy.
When he finally reaches the thief, he is breathing heavily, red and white skin slick with sweat. A fury crackles under his skin, burning behind the vibrant blue of his eyes. “Give her back,” he growls (or rather, tries to growl, youth making his voice too tremorous and wispy to be effective). “She wasn’t yours to take.”
reave
@[Popinjay]