His boots stepped through muck and grass, stumbling upon the rocks unable to fight the inevitable anymore. Years of welding up the beast and now he is beckoning to come out. His blood, now more than ever, ran deeper than the magic to which he was bound.
He landed on his hands and knees beckoning the ethereal rush to come forth with ease. His eyes are completely white. He screamed long and loud.
"Deorum enim vos estis qui audit me, et positus est super me maledictionem mea Asa. Non erit tibi vinctum in bello fata mea et equitare. Ita sentiunt in terra mea et sonitu cecidit," he cursed.
(Latin to English: "Gods hear me for it is you who placed the curse upon me through my forefather. I will not be bound by war, but ride my fate. So let the earth feel my thundering beat.")
He screamed once more and howled as his body and neck elongated. His legs stretched and fell below him. Arms elongated bending forward and below him. His nose is now a forelock and muzzle. The most prized piece like a crown now sits on his forelock as a reminder of his blood.
The magical grey stallion with a black mane and tail lays on the grass below the trees as if debating if he should get up. He lays his head on the ground slowly stretching his neck as if he's been galloping all day.
All this running and walking all day has taken effect even in this form. Ridiculous.
My father would be laughing at the sight of his Crown Prince in this Almighty form lying down. Oh but I am enjoying this, he laughed.
The stallion rolled to his side grunting and taking a deep breath.
Wretched old man. He has no idea what he has created. I will come back to take the throne MY way.
The stallion lay there for a few more minutes. Suddenly he got up. His build finally upon his mighty feathered hooves. He shakes his mighty form as if to shake the day off of him. Sniffing the ground and grazing the grass as if to taste where he is, he looks around and starts walking with his head high.
The tree line started and the plains begged to be touched. He stopped as if he was scared of leaving the forest. He grunted and snorted pulling his head down and looking up again, backing up from the line. The stallion pawed at the ground and nodded as if finally picking up that he knew where he was.
With that, the grey stallion took off at an easy gallop. Hooves pounding at the wet plain ground, head bobbing, muscles shining in the sun, and horn gleaming setting off to the endless plains.
YOU ARE READING
The Lost Thunderstorm
FantasyA princess destined at birth to marry the prince of all kings, the prince of The First Family. But, what happens when the prince disappears without a single trace? What could possibly had gone through the mind of the next heir of the King of Kings...
