There is something very finalizing about death, but it never mattered how many times he’d seen. To Horizon some things just never died. Even sight of Farant’s dead body wasn’t enough, but the bastard son wasn’t about to tempt fate and walk any closer. It would suffice for him to see the limp, lifeless carcass that was the man who had held Horizon’s life in his paws for so many years. A part of the blood titan was going to take this at face value and run with it, because for the other majority of his mind there was still a fear of Farant. As much as Horizon hated and wanted to be rid of Farant and everything that had ever been a part of that time in his life, he was not going to so easily drop it. How was one supposed just instantly forget what had been their life, their pain, sorrow, and form of slavery? Simply put, it was not possible. There was no doubt that the poor bastard was going to suffer for a time. There was no amount of preparation for what had just happened that could have prevented Horizon’s reaction. He was traumatized and suffering with what felt like post-traumatic syndrome. He succinctly managed to relive an entire lifetime in a singular battle. And Horizon hadn’t even come near Farant. If that didn’t give any clues as to how horrid an effect the monstrous sire had had on him, than it was hopeless to understand Horizon.

The bloody bastard son of Farant had come so far in his life, only to regress so quickly.

Every portion of his mind was cracking. Words strung themselves together into pointless, meaningless globs of words all of which sat upon his tongue but could never be spoken. And what form of coherent thought he managed was only in the fact that he so desperately wanted to tell Shasta how he felt. He wanted to answer her question, but he was forcibly mute once more.

Traumatized did not even begin to remotely describe the intensity of fear and overwhelming hopelessness that had come upon him. The maned wolf wanted nothing more than hide away. He felt like a sore thumb. He felt like a slave to the body that was now crumpled up on the ground. Even death Farant had still managed to leave one final mark on his bastard child. Farant had made Horizon mute. Like a final act from the grave or however one wanted to see it. All that was clear was that Horizon was falling backwards, from all the progress he had made. The forced socialization, the small pack life he had lead, the few friends he had met and learned to be around. All that time, energy, focus, and learned, normal behavior was gone. Horizon was holding onto his humanity and sanity by a singular thread at the moment. And that thread was Shasta. It was for her sake that he tried so hard to speak and step away from the edge of the abyss.

But it would take time. And Horizon would need help not that he would or could admit that.

A pressure under his nape caused Horizon to let go the wrapping hold he had over Shasta, Can we go please? Her chocolate pools stared into his pleadingly and he nodded silently. Every part of him screamed to run from this massacre but he held onto Shasta. She was his mental crutch as much as he was her physical crutch. Horizon kept his body close to hers, his limp was less obvious than hers for his was only caused by wincing not a broken bone. Horizon knew that Shasta needed help, and it was beyond his basic knowledge to fix a broken bone. He instead did everything he could to keep her off the limb as they wandered away from Cold Summers and into the wilds of Blossom Forest. No destination until one or both of them gave up from exhaustion. And at that point the duo found themselves in Blossom Field.

Damp ground was underfoot, but most of the land was covered in blossoms that were ready to bloom or had already begun the process. Horizon felt nothing as he stared out over the expanse of color. Each pop of red was blood and that in and of itself was over powering and overwhelming to all the other colors. Horizon closed his eyes trying to block out the bloody massacre that was painted over his vision. Motion at his side caused him to open them once more and he saw Shasta sitting down on the ground panting. She was observing her own injuries and he looked over her himself. Horizon stepped a bit closer to make sure that there was no worsening in her condition, and thankfully there was no change. Though every part of him just wanted to make her better. He wanted to take away the pain so she didn’t have to suffer from the wounds she had received from a battle she should have never had to fight. Mismatched orbs of mud and amber looked up into pure, depths of cocoa and the need only intensified. Are you okay? She asked, the concern in her voice was touching, but her physical touch sent shivers down his spine. She had begun to gently clean away the blood and gore that marked his chest and he winced. The soft tissue was sliced deeper than he had originally thought but it was not life threatening as long as it was kept clean.

Horizon felt an easing comfort start to settle over him as Shasta continued to clean him, but still he could find no words. So instead he too began to clean away the blood and gore that covered her figure. He started at the top of her crown and slowly worked his way down the base of her aud, before following the gentle slope of her jaw line. There was no denying the intensity of emotion that was flowing through him though his only outlet was through action. Muteness left him helpless to expression via verbal communication, but that was not what compelled him to do as he did. There was no real explanation in his mind, but as he cleaned away the last bit of blood from her cheek he placed a gentle kiss on her face; lingering ever so slightly. His mixed orbs searched for hers hoping that he had not read her gestures incorrectly and hoping so desperately that she felt like he did.