Now my horrors have become quite real
Oh, he can be brash. When he wants to. Most of the time he is anyways, not to mention that when he was a colt, it was simple to open up his mouth and let proverbial vomit spill out. Those were the days before the Desert, before Heartfire had shown him what it was like to slip in between worlds. Before he knew what real power was. See, it’s not always about who commands the greatest magic - it’s about how they use it.
He doesn’t know her name, doesn’t know her past or what she’s capable of. He only sees her as a yellow and white mare, brazenly making her way through the others as they mill about uselessly. But Wyrm, of all horses, knows better than to judge a book by its cover. The cremello stallion discerns that he rather enjoys watching her large feet make a rough path around the gathering grounds and decides that he’s in a rather restless mood anyways. His father had found him out, sniffed him down and brought him up to speed with the going-ons of the outside world. A new half-sister and a new banishment. What fun.
Tangle that with his nearly-dead Kingdom and he’d agree that it was about time to dip his toes in some new water. He makes quick body alterations - splitting his hooves in two, giving his own tail a good shake before it thins into a lion’s tail (that same pale white to match the rest of him), and one rather robust, twisted narwhal horn to set the picture nearly perfectly. A unicorn, straight from a fairytale. He can only assume that he looks like something of an oddity, or a joke, or perhaps a mixture of the two. An odd joke. But he likes the strangeness of himself and he assumes, in some way, she might too. A moment of contemplation and then he intercepts her, head rising as his curious pink eyes blink at the harshness of her yellow-splattered coat.
“On a warpath today, are we?” He casually muses, enlarged ears tipping sideways comically as he tilts his head.
My nightmares breathe new life
W Y R M