Zahhāk had gone too far.

He was alone and barely old enough to gain strength from nibbling the sparse vegetation that sprang from the earth on his own. His short life thus far had been a game of of inches, close calls and near misses. It was the very antithesis of abundance, but it was enough and that was all he needed.

He stalked the shadows with long and spindly legs like a spider, his smoky black coat clinging tightly to his ribs, making him difficult to spot clearly under the cover of night. He liked the darkness because he felt less exposed. Even the silver light from the moon was too revealing for him. He did not want to be seen, heard or judged by anyone or anything. He preferred the silence too. Quiet calmed him. It let him focus.

He needed to focus, or he would die. The dryness of thirst tickled at his throat and his tiny nostrils flared as widely as he could make them—smelling the thick, hot air and searching for any trace of moisture that could mean water. He found it entangled with another smell. The smell of blood and sweat and breath. He crept to the edge of the pond in the oasis, keeping low in the tall grass until he was close enough to dip one of his small hooves in the water. The ripples that resulted stretched outward and he dipped his nose to drink quickly.

When the ripples returned from the opposite direction, his head shot up and he peered across the water with his dark brown eyes fixated on the other who stood on the opposite bank. She was young and small like him, and for a moment Zahhāk was frozen in shock. Her stunningly blue eyes and the patches of white that decorated her body seemed to glow in the night. She was the moon and stars and he was a cloudy night. He wanted to run, but his hooves were heavy and his heart pounded in his chest so loudly he was amazed she couldn't hear it. This was a new feeling.

He wanted to drown it in the pond.

Zahhāk

There was madness in any direction, at any hour.