The boy doesn't like the way Zayn seems to be appraising him as he approaches, and he likes this talk of training even less. Training to help protect against a threat to Zayn's kingdom? Why should he lift a hoof to protect the Chamber out at all? This was his prison, not his home. He owed it nothing, and is on the verge of telling the palomino paint just that, when another thought strikes his brain. Perhaps if he did this thing, whatever it was, for the older colt, he would be allowed to leave, to go find his family at last, and be able to never leave their company again. He would be within his rights to demand that favor in return, if he did what Zayn wanted of him. The little ground squirrel, however, was a random, innocent little animal. He does not wish to hurt it, though instead of protesting, he decides he's going to defy the other male this time in a way that can't be stopped. He leans his shaggy brown head down, intending to simply grasp the small rodent in his mouth long enough to drop it back in its hole so that it will be safe and out of reach. Good intentions that last only until its warm little body is resting against his teeth and tongue, the taste of it dancing against the latter. And oh, he can smell it, can just *feel* the taste of it, the warm meat and the blood pulsing just below its skin. And at that point, Siberian can't help himself.
Ivory, dagger-sharp teeth snap down, prompting a pained squeak from the ground squirrel as it is impaled, and the mere imagining of how it would taste pales in comparison to the reality. The boy instinctively chews and swallows the rodent, afterwards feeling ashamed at how the bear-side of himself had taken control with its bloodlust, and refuses to look at Zayn once he is done. Was this what was meant by training? Was he going to be required, or even forced, to kill more and more living things? The Budyonny shudders at the thought. What point even wanting to go back to his family, if this was the case, if by then his soul was tattered and soaked in blood? He doesn't want that to happen, wants to leave here and never come back. But he doesn't even consider throwing caution to the wind and trying to fight his way out, ravens be damned. Killing Zayn (and he knows that the bear form could do it) was not an option to the black colt, for another horse's life was sacred, no matter what they had done. Ignoring the little niggle of thought from his ursine half that he had enjoyed the taste of the squirrel's blood, that he just wouldn't admit it, at last he reluctantly looks at the palomino sabino, his eyes full of resentment for what his kidnapper was doing to him. He was being changed, he knew it. Would he even recognize himself in the future? Would he care? He avoids answering these inner questions, dreading (and perhaps more than just a bit, beginning to anticipate) the answers that would be presented.
Siberian
The sexy grizzly boy of Beqanna