02-16-2020, 10:02 PM
If Thorn is to have a favorite sibling, it is Tamlin. The pair have always bounced off each other in the picturesque way close brothers do: knocking heads, rough-housing, offering eye-rolling advice but appreciating each other all the same. It’s those memories of their unbreakable bond that Thorn thinks of as he turns to stare into the quiet eyes of his brother. There is almost nothing behind Tamlin’s gaze, just as before—he wears nothing more than a kind smile, and even that stirs discomfort in Thorn’s chest.
“Do you think we can get past these vines? Maybe if we kick—” Thorn begins only to be cut off by Tamlin’s gentle nudging. He blinks confused lilac eyes back at his brother only to find an eager, loving smile. “Tamlin, what—” but again he is cut off by incessant pushing. Thorn stumbles hesitantly in the direction of the wall of foliage, but sets his hooves hard against the stone when they do not give beneath his weight. “Tamlin, stop,” he demands, not yet harsh but certainly frustrated.
The vines come alive when Tamlin finally uses brute force. Thorn turns around just enough to see that same creepy, loving smile on his face. Fear and dread slide up his throat as Tamlin’s wings whip up and over, herding Thorn’s body even further into the vines. He could fight back, of course: kick with his back legs, flare his own wings, use his impressive height; but Thorn is kind and true, even now finding it impossible to use violence on his loved ones.
Even now, as the vines writhe around his body and tighten around his throat.
Soon, Thorn is entirely engulfed. He can still breath, his mouth and nostrils free and gasping and every few seconds whimpering, “Tamlin . . .” The vines seem to laugh, then, heaving up and down in a mimicry of mirth before finding every opening in his body and digging in. A pair snakes up his nose, another into his ears, and yet another down his throat. He would die from suffocation if his brain was not ripped to shreds by vicious thorns.
—
When Thorn wakes, the gray chamber around him pulses. He blinks, blood from his recent death still decorating the white and black of his head. His head throbs with the silver shivering of his enclosure, and when he lifts himself to the ground he can barely shake the grogginess from his eyes. Thorn peers first to the left, then to the right, then slowly spins around when he hears the labored breathing of what is sure to be some terrible creature.
Fear fills Thorn’s eyes like a flood, first feral and then sorrowful when he realizes what he is staring at. This is Tamlin to him, not some strange imitation, and he truly believes this fruitless quest he has followed has turned his brother into a monster. He can barely recognize his sibling—if it was not for the red patch on his shoulder, Thorn isn’t sure he would know it is him. Those warm, welcoming brown eyes are now black; not just black, though, black and melted and dripping dark slime down his face. What was once a kind, equine face is now a horse’s head with the wide mouth of a wolf. Canines glimmer wickedly when Tamlin’s mouth flops open to pant, followed by the long, wet tongue of a dog.
“Tamlin, please,” Thorn begs, though his voice finds the supernatural strength his mother’s heart has always given him. Tears pool in his eyes and then quietly drip down as he realizes that this creature is not to be reasoned with. That this Tamlin is no longer Tamlin but Thorn’s worst fears realized.
And Thorn is disgusted with himself for ever feeling fear. Disgusted because he thinks that if he had never worried, then this monster wouldn’t be standing before him. Disgusted because his fears not only affected his reality, but his brother’s.
Teeth fall from the wolf’s mouth as Tamlin edges closer. Thorn takes a moment to really absorb what has been done to his brother. He knows he will never forgive himself if he does not experience this terrible creation of his to its full extent. The canine mouth and melted eyes are not the only frightening changes Tamlin has undergone. His wings are no longer feathered but covered in thorns and spikes. Where hooves once were there are oversized wolf paws. Tamlin’s back legs bend and twist until they are facing in the complete opposite direction. The muscles beneath his fur writhe with their transformations. The sharp edges of Tamlin’s wings stab into his skin, leaving pockmarks and exposed muscle. The flowers that littered his mane are rotted and slimy, and his once thick mane and tail is now stringy and dreadlocked. Blood drips from the wounds on his back and sides and from various pustules all over his body.
The tiniest sliver of light catches Thorn’s eye when Tamlin manages to stumble closer. A way out, the cave whispers to him. But he knows it must come with a price. It is not another magicked whisper that gives him understanding, but a vision. The image of Tamlin festering forever in these caves locks into his mind. End his suffering or watch for eternity.
“I’m so sorry,” Thorn whispers, but this time tears do not wet his cheeks. He does this out of love—out of love for his brother and hate for himself. Mama would never forgive him if he left Tamlin here to writhe and writhe until the end of time. Mama might not forgive him for this, either, but when faced with his first choice of a lesser of two evils, Thorn thinks he picks correctly.
Tamlin doesn’t put up much of a fight, as one might think he would. His deformed body makes it easy for him to be knocked over, so it only takes a buffering of Thorn’s large wings for him to stumble to his knees. From there, he kicks him in the jaw hard enough to knock him to his side. Tamlin’s sharp wings flutter defensively, but the way his body continues to change offers him little control.
“I can’t fix this,” Thorn murmurs, then lands both of his front hooves directly onto Tamlin’s skull. Memories of healing scraped knees and sudden fevers flash across his mind. “I can’t fix this,” he repeats again, then settles a distant gaze upon the pinprick of light. He breaks into a desperate gallop, barely feeling the way his strong heart wrenches from the lack of love.