Life dealt him an odd set of cards. He had been given life, sure, but there had been a cost. Mother in the end lost hers while Fletchor gained his. By no means had it been intentional. The world was whirring around him and jostled him here and there it seemed. Everything went from warm and dark to bright and cold. It didn't seem right and so he retaliated without understanding how. Sand lifted and danced around them but while Fletchor remained sound and untouched, Myrina met her demise.

Right from the womb, Fletchor committed murder.

It has been a few years since then. No one has been around to remind him of his first minutes alive. At times the memory of it escapes him but there are those more dismal days where the dark images return to him like a movie. When that happens the images are fresh like he's experiencing it all over again. It wakes him with a jolt. Sand falls to the ground around him and the storm immediately dies away. During those nights Fletchor is somehow creating sandstorms in his sleep.

The boy is dangerous although he doesn't realize this. There are days when he is at ease, calm, accepting of his life; there are others, however, that he isn't quite himself. Something is just... different.

Having left the jungle behind him months ago Fletchor arrives here. The meadow is new to him. The Amazons are all he knew, all he has ever seen and smelled. Everything is different here including the change in scenery. There is no canopy dotting out the sunlight or dense undergrowth winding along the soil hoping to trip its next victim. No, the meadow seems less feral and more peaceful.

With a shake of his body - which sends grains of sand flying in every direction - he settles in a sunlit area with his eyes steadily focused on the new world surrounding him.

The warmth of spring is actually welcomed because it's different from what he is accustomed to. There is some humidity, but it's minute in comparison to the Jungle where the excessive moisture chokes the air. This he can more readily handle. In some areas there is sand that he has access to, that he feels he can relate with. In this moment, however, he doesn't search for a patch to stand on. Instead he remains surrounded by grass as it licks his lower legs every time the wind blows. Such a strange change of surroundings this is, but he doesn't turn his back to the change. He tries to embrace it and to look forward instead of back. His past is darker than the sunlight overhead and far more lonely than the knots of horses nearby. While holding a secret tightly to his chest Fletchor tries to appear more optimistic and bright.

They don't need to know that he has already killed.
They don't need to know how dangerous he potentially is.

There is a noise carried toward him and so his head lifts in curiosity only to see the call addressed elsewhere. With hooded eyes he watches as a mare and stallion come together, embracing as lovers and smiling sweetly. He turns his back. Is there love for someone like him? He has never seen it before, never held it not even for a parent, so is it real? The questions linger in his consciousness until he is drawn from his thoughts by a far sweeter call than the former. When he rolls his eyes to see he notices the mare approaching him. Gulping sheepishly he tries to keep his composure. It has been quite some time since he has last really had a conversation. "Hello," the sound of his own voice is strange, alien, but he answers her nonetheless. "Boredom, I suppose." In reality Fletchor isn't sure why he came here of all places. It's a change of scenery and it's a way of running farther away from his bleak childhood.

His gold-flecked eyes catch sight of her pregnant belly and he shifts uncomfortably before meeting her gaze. "And you? What brings you here?