The golden mare moves further away from the heart of the Desert herd, moving as though she sought to blend into the lands around her. Her movements, however, do not go completely unnoticed. Green-blue eyes narrow suspiciously as the young stallion watches, his intense gaze tracing each finely sculpted curve of her body. Paper nostrils flare as she pauses to exchange breaths with the wraith-like stallion that always seemed to linger near the borders. An emotion he has never known until this last year once again begins to arise…. Jealousy. Who was Octavius to her? Why did she greet him so openly but seem determined to avoid father, mother, and other members of the herd? Why was HE not being sought out if she wanted company or someone to help her find something?

Since mother’s return, things on the home front were far more…. Tense than he had expected them to be. Although Asmodeus had never been the overbearing, overprotective father figure, he did tend to make time for Cahyr. Lately, that had grown much less frequent, at least in his naive eyes. More often than not, much of Nyimara and Asmoedus’ time was spent giving one another the silent treatment or in a downright spat. It was aggravating, especially since this mostly left him with Swyk shadowing his heels.

Swyk.

His brother. At least that is what mother told him. Others were not nearly as kind in their whispered mutterings. Bastard was a term Asmodeus had often used but only when he imagined Cahyr was not listening.

Jealousy began long before the colt first drew breath when Asmoedus first cast aside his witch-mother in the name of conflicting emotions. Swyk. It was all Swyk’s fault. Cahyr knew it.

A sneer forms on the boy’s dark lips at the sound of Swyk’s whining voice as if the very thought of him brought him to life. The younger colt calls out for the pale boy, no doubt hoping to join in whatever antics the golden princeling was getting into. Feigning ignorance to his call, Cahyr charges toward the buckskin mare; his proud head held high as he closes the gap of space between them at a rapid pace. ”Hey! Hey you!” he calls, slowing his rapid pace to match her languid gait. Tawny cream ears fall backward amid the lengthening ends of his alabaster mane as he cast her a sideways glance. ”Why are you out here so far by yourself? Abba won’t like that you know…” he warns, lifting his small muzzle higher in feigned authority.

CAHYR

firebringer son of the Desert sands