:WYRM:
Isn’t this just like him, to creep out of the darkness and emerge for no other reason besides him actually wanting to emerge? The Forest is heady with the smell of rotting foliage and dark, a damp sort of shade that thickens in the summer air. He’d always liked it here, almost as much as he’d liked clinging to the evergreens of his childhood home. Wyrm, though, had never been a child. More of a creature that had grown into a content monster.
Perhaps being immortal has its advantages, even if said asset is only remaining physically untouched for, well, ever. The bright green stallion has remained in perfect health, without a single line of disorder or age tarnishing him. Youth, he supposes, is a gift in and of itself. But he moves now (easily, as if he were meant to) between the trees with a strange sense of purpose guiding him … almost as if some unthinkable hand of fate is drawing him along. He personally cannot imagine why, there was nothing connecting him to this world or the next. His sire was out there somewhere probably breeding more useless whelps, his dam long gone - Kudu with her. The only other individual who springs to mind is the fiery spotted mare, but he’s struck her name from his tongue.
Weakness has never been within him, and he won’t allow a faded memory to drive him to the brink of insanity.
Besides, things were brewing. And by brewing, he means that he’d been dreaming. In his slumber he’d been connected with that part of himself the fairies had taken when they’d decided to punish them all, he’d been whole again, and the power had coursed through him while the vision turned to red. It was a craving so strong and undeniable that it pushed him from his stasis and sent him here again, where the others dwelled. “Time to live again, Wyrm,” He muses, heart pounding with each assertive step, “time to eat.”