From above, the wicked shall receive their just reward
Not so long ago, Kronk had longed for the chance to prove himself. He had yearned for experience, for training, for the bond between soldiers who stood together on the battlefield. Soon after that he had let his guard down. He had been lulled by the beauty of the Gates, and the serene tranquility of the garden.
Now, Kronk felt like a fool.
He smelled the smoke before he saw the flames, but soon great tongues of fire lapped at the sky. Kronk had been half awake when they first came. He had been watching the sunset with a dreamy, contented look on his face. All that had changed quickly, and now he was racing towards the blaze, breath held in anticipation of what he would find.
“Find their majesties!” He screamed to anyone who would listen. He didn’t care what was happening. Step one was the secure the royal family, step two was to handle whatever may come. Unfortunately, as far as Kronk knew, he made up fully half of the Gate’s army.
He now realized how woefully, shamefully unprepared they were.
Kronk crested a hill and saw the attackers. Not many of them, but already the damage would forever scar his home. Kronk could have dropped to his knees in front of the inferno that had been the mother tree. Instead, he launched himself at their leader.
The white one, the white one with the red eyes. He was giving commands.
Kronk bared his teeth and leapt at the other stallion. He would rip his wings from his back for this. He would reclaim those angelic wings and bury them beneath the rubble of the Mother Tree. Let him see the darker side of the Gates.
Photograph by Vivacqua