He is small, overlooked, the kind of creature that escapes your notice when the sun dips too low. Amethyst eyes gleaning what information they can from the moonlit landscape - it is pretty here, at night. The faint glowing of his curled, gnarled horn gives him away, however - but even then, stranger things go bump in the night.
He shouldn't be so far from home, so far from mother. Without her, he will die - his spindly legs trip often over the unfamiliar ground. Go home, the earth tells him. What are you doing here?
There are sounds of life and he sees them with his bedragoned eyes, watches as animals who ought to be kept secret go about the business he was never invited to take part in. He smells other horses, but cannot see those creatures - his wings shuffle, so like his father.
When she approaches, his breathing stops.
Predator.
@[Wishbone]
He shouldn't be so far from home, so far from mother. Without her, he will die - his spindly legs trip often over the unfamiliar ground. Go home, the earth tells him. What are you doing here?
There are sounds of life and he sees them with his bedragoned eyes, watches as animals who ought to be kept secret go about the business he was never invited to take part in. He smells other horses, but cannot see those creatures - his wings shuffle, so like his father.
When she approaches, his breathing stops.
Predator.
@[Wishbone]