Fennick loved his family. He loved his home. There were few things that the large black stallion could call his own. So that which he could was especially dear. He could have been a powerful man, he was a king, after all. However, Fennick never wanted to be. He wore the crown like a dubious, heavy burden. These days, with war looming on the horizon and Beqanna splitting down the middle, certain things became more dear. Hestia, his children, they were precious.
As he stared moodily off into the sunset, the black stallion let his mind wander. He was troubled, though he knew not why. Some darkness niggled at him like a worm boring into his brain. He felt his soul writhe against its container, and the horse pulled his lips back into a snarl, growing more and more doglike as he did. It was his other form now, the wolf. It was his like the others were not his. He could be a bird, but only if he saw one, he could be fire, but only if the flames were already there. The wolf was him, just like the towering black stallion was him, as the creature of stone he became each night.
When he heard the jaguar snarl Fennick recognized it as his son. He always did, somehow. He knew they could recognize him as their father too, or at least he knew Eona could. They way his oldest child would smile up at the bird in the tree and know it was him. They way she would kick at the log, knowing that was him as well. Perhaps shifting ran in their blood, it certainly ran in Kryten’s. Still, today his son didn’t bring light to his heart. The boy’s feral snarl confirmed something, it confirmed the dark that was wiggling in Fennick’s brain.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, Fennick walked to him. He could feel his boy’s rage. He could feel it rolling off him like blood, and so Fennick did just he opposite, he went cold, steeling himself for what was to come. He felt himself turn slowly to stone, though he was not asleep.
Fennick stopped near his jaguar son and tilted his head, surveying him with icy dread. Was that Kryten’s blood? His stony heart quickened. Was he hurt? Instantly, Fennick looked around for Hestia, though he knew not what he expected her to do. Finally, when she couldn't be found, Fennick turned back to Kryten. Fennick spoke in a slow, deliberate voice, as if his calm was the only thing holding the situation together.
“There’s blood on you, son.” It was a statement, but really it was a question. Fennick reached down and wiped some of the blood off his child’s body. He smelled strongly of Hestia, but of course he would, they almost always did. The whole Valley smelled of her, of them, of the herd. Now Fennick looked around for his daughter. Where was she? Where was their mother?
OOC: Sorry it's late! I'm horrible and slow.