Finally (finally) it was time for Bruise to find his father.
Find his father and show him what he had done, what he could do.
It was time to secure his place as the favored child, to secure his spot at his father’s right side.
It did not take him long to find Pollock, not with his speed and agility returned to him. It did not take him long to seek out the golden stallion, the brighter version of his own coat of ash and soot. He approached quickly because there was no time to waste; his eyes were fever bright and his lips pressed together.
“Father,” always formal—perhaps too formal. It was only right that he give his father the respect that he deserved; after all, his father was who gave him these gifts and who would, with any luck, be the one to teach him how to hone his craft. Bruise knew that he was still clumsy with the Fear. He could manipulate it but without any finesse; it was a club in his grasp when he wanted it to be a scalpel. He wanted to be able to treat Fear like an orchestra, like the finest of paintings. Right now, he was brutish with it.
“I have been given a gift,” not that he was thankful for it—not really. In his mind, it was nothing that he did not deserve, was not owed to him. Perhaps, in time, his own arrogance would be his downfall, but not now. Not when the power flowed through him and when the world was cracked open before him like an oyster, all of the potential ripe for the taking. “And I have been given the ability to pass along the same gifts to five others, with or without limitations as I see fit.” Of course there would be limitations.
Of course.
But not with Pollock.
Instead, Bruise just dipped his head, dark eyes sharp. “I cannot wait to see the world tremble before you and the Fear.” And, with a crack of his tail, as he had seen the fairy do, he used one of his five gifts, granting his father the only thing that he could: power and Fear.
Bruise
head like a hole; as black as your soul.
@[Pollock]