Prime doesn’t know the same deep aches. Not in any way he can articulate. He knows there is something inside him, something raw and tender, but he has worked hard to bury that part of him. It’s not so hard. Things could have been much worse for him. He wasn’t wanted, so what? He was raised well enough by his father, and he is powerful, made of gold and demons and death, and this puts him ahead of many.
So he tells himself.
He is not expecting the fire – why should he? – so when it appears, circling him like a cage, horns sprout from his head, sharp and terrible things, and his body elongates, stretching taller. His mind reaches out, grabbing for the fire-bringer’s life force, trying to grasp it. Not to harm – not yet – but to make himself known as a threat. Prime is not a seasoned fighter – not even close – but he is willing to play the part, his ears pinned flat, firelight dancing in his golden eyes.
And then he sees him. Another stallion, golden and fiery, staring at him like Prime owes him something. He isn’t sure what, but as he looks closer, he has a suspicion. He spent enough time with Firion to know the stamp of him.
“No,” he all he says, watching the flames more than the man.
“Why do you ask?”
who protects the shadow better than the dark?
@Fyr