stay the night, I promise I won't bite...
It doesn't know what is going on, it stays hidden because its skin is shedding, its flesh is rotting, molting and it is embarrassed. It wonders where it's mama and papa went, even though those really aren't mama and papa - no Yael and Vanquish were far from mama and papa. It is almost two but it is still vulnerable, unknowing of the impending war - unsure of what to do but it hears the commotion and it stirs from its hiding place.
"Yael? Vanquish? Anyone?" it says with a thick, hoarse tone from which soon after the flesh of his lips slip off; rotten fatty tissue left to slow bleed. Its eyes grow weary with fear, the large stallion does not appear - the golden light is no where to be found. It panics but it has no idea what to do. It hisses, seething mad with an unfelt anger before. Had it been abandoned? Surely not. It stomps, piece by piece of rotten flesh falling away as it digs its talons into the smooth, shifting sand - his ears prick forward as he hears a faint step perhaps a mare or child. It listens, slipping quietly into the shadow to wait whomever may come. It wants to know where Vanquish and Yael are, it wants to know badly - it must know, it must find them. It will find them, it will find them safe or it will not rest. Mama. Papa. Siloam. Deserts. It keeps this foreign smell coming back that overpowers its own necrotic flesh - a stench far worse, of the Chamber.
It sees a raven, its eye leans forward in and caws meticulously at it - he can't be bothered but this bird could blow its cover. It wonders if it should follow, perhaps if it gets company. After all, it doesn't know where its going - it doesn't know how dangerous it could be.
undead, rotting, taloned and fanged little boy
infection and oliphander