There were many things that made this world so cruel and unforgiving. All the sickness that came like the plague, silent and creeping until it filled up one's lungs and made breathing hard, made organs fail until finally as quickly as it came it left only to leave a hollowed corpse in its wake, it was gruesome and heartless. It did not spare the strong or the vibrant and young, cutting down any that were in its path without so much as a moment's hesitation as it carries out the twisted desires of the gods. There was sin in every part of this dark world that so many seemed to pretend wasn't there, whether it be in a small child born with an illness that would not allow them to lead a full life or in the bloody and wicked murder of someone's beloved, it was almost nonsensical for someone who only knew dark times to try and dare to think that there really was a silver lining on the horizon somewhere beyond those rolling and ominous storm clouds that roared and raged on. All those words of encouragement, the "everything will turn out right in the end"s and the "everything happens for a reason"s, they were enough to make the colt of faded obsidian wince. Maybe if they walked a day in his hooves, they wouldn't say such things. Maybe if they knew the hardships that he had already had to face so early on in his uncertain life.

If there was a single word to sum up the life that the almost-yearling had walked thus far in his terribly short life, it would be pathetic. Perhaps if he had been born any other place, to any other woman, things would be different and he would be able to see that light everyone always seemed to talk about. He was not the master of his own fate though, or so it seemed when the gods - if they were even there to begin with - had placed him here in perhaps the most forsaken realm he could have ever found himself in. None of it was even his fault, none of it was of his choice or his doing. He hasn't asked for his mother to be a cold and heartless wrench, a distant creature that had been seen by his cruel and hungry father who took the opportunity to demonstrate his power that he held. It was not by the choice of the ivory splashed colt that he was a product of rape, a bastard child and an orphan all in the same moment. In all honesty, it was a miracle in and of itself that he had survived the ever changing seasons. Of all the souls in this grand scheme of things, it was Desdén that knew what real hunger felt like, what real rejection was. While he no longer depended on the stolen meals who could guilt the mothers of the dale into providing him for a day or so before they chased him and forced the half starved youth to desperately search for another that might show him a degree of pity, it was clear in the way that his rubs still showed throw his filthy skin still whispered of the daily struggle that he writhed and wriggled in the clutches of. Every day of his life, he had to fight to stay alive and though his frame might not speak of gleaming health like the other foals his age, there was a fire in his dark gaze, the only way that kept him just strong enough to see another sunrise - what for he did not know.

He walks through the dense woodlands of the dale, a familiar scent tickling his senses and causing twin harks to flicker stop his poll. He clings to the shadows, ever alert for the sound of heavy hoofbeats that might signal the nearness of the pangare warlord that called himself king of this wretched hellhole. His encounters had been few and far between with the large stallion, and something deep in the colt told him that whenever Rhaego came into view, he needed to make himself scarce, into the shadow that he practically already was. Instinct told him that the bay beast was a danger to the colt's meager and worthless existence, and so he made sure to steer clear of the freshest trails that carried the stench of the king. The scent that he followed was the scent of the only one that seemed to care at all about the appaloosa orphan; his sister. It was because of her that he wasn't dead. She hardly spoke to him, did not take him about wrap him up in a comforting embrace, but she always seemed to be nearby and that was enough for Desdén to believe that he wasn't completely and utterly alone in this wicked world. So when he sees her marching along the trail ahead of him a ways, he calls out to her. It was quieter than a whinny but louder than a whicker as he stops his own forward strides. He was growing strong as they days came and went and he was finally able to forage for sustenance on his own, but the constant starvation from before he had forcibly been weaned left him weaker than most his age and he knew that trying to catch up with her would only waste the precious energy he worked hard to conserve, knowing it was crucial to his survival, knowing that eventually his luck on staying far away from Rhaego would run out and the real fight to stay alive would begin.