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Ruairidh stood in the council clearing, a soft breeze rifling through his fur and whispering past his ears. Just a breeze, he reminded himself. Not the whispers of the grieving and the sick, not the voices of those who had already been lost.

It was hard to enjoy even such a simple thing in times like these. A prince of his people, Ruairidh had never known lands other than these that were his home. He had grown up here like his father, like his grandfather before him. He knew where the streams flowed fastest and where their waters fed the sweetest grass. He knew where the quietest dells could be found, safe enough for even royal blood to steal a nap in the warm, dappled sunlight of a late morning. He could race the scout’s course and leap every obstacle in the path with his eyes closed, and had done many times with his friends before he’d been forced to put aside his childhood days and step into the role his birth proscribed.

The memories made the corners of his mouth twitch, lifting them into the semblance of a smile. The mournful breeze stole it away again.

It was time to move on. Time to leave. He’d been up three nights trying to find some way around it but the signs were impossible to overlook. It was no longer simply the elders and the fawns who struggled with sickness now. Even his cousin, Earnan, his closest friend and confidante, had lost his strength and was wasting away. It seemed impossible that the big sable-coated buck, who had chased off wolves, laughing as he ran, and stood firm against the fever-mad bear who stalked royal territory when they were young, could be winnowed down into frailty. He’d seen the proof himself, though. Knelt by his cousin’s side as he struggled to lift his head and summon a smile.

For a moment, anger flared in his chest, blazing beneath his ribs and stealing his breath as surely as the flames that had consumed the trees and shrubs and claimed too many of his people’s lives. It wasn’t fair that he should have to do this on his own, that he should be the one forced to deliver this announcement to his people. Didn’t he deserve as peaceful, as prosperous a reign as his father had? Shouldn’t he have had the right to know his name would be spoken in reverent whispers they way his grandfather’s was? The Cerynei would question and challenge him for forcing them from their homes. Would his name not forever be spoken in the same breath as ‘coward’? Would he not be remembered as the one who had given up when another season’s struggle might have seen them through troubled times?

No, a calmer voice seemed to whisper to him. The healers, the wise among the elders, they told him that they had been watching the lands sicken for a lifetime. The glades he’d known as a fawn, they said, though beautiful, were already pale in comparison to those of their own youths. Take us somewhere new, they told him. Lead us to prosperity and happiness again.

Ruairidh took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the same breeze that whispered around him, drawing strength from fresher air. Stay and die or leave and hope to find life for his people again. There was only one choice to be made. That had been made, already, no matter how he dragged his hooves about telling the rest. They would leave. They would go, perhaps, back to their cousins, the hornless Soquili. Perhaps there, they could find a place to rest and heal and live again. Ruairidh had never met them, but a spark of hope kindled inside him that they would welcome their long-distant brethren and share the wealth of their lands for a little while.

Thus resolved, he lifted his head and went to summon the council. He would tell them first, and then the rest. He would take as many as would follow him. He hoped he would leave none behind.

The beautiful forest was overtaken with a hiss, the low thrumming of death. From the shadows snaked a thick green mist, coiling tighter and tighter. From within its prisoner grip, a squeal of death resonated. It faded to silence and the mist rose as though with a serpentine head and turned on its frozen audience, a frightened Cerynei caught by beholding its death-like dance. It rose and widened like a wave, steadily building higher and higher until it loomed overhead, blocking light and with it any thoughts but that of death and fear. He felt his energy drain until he could no longer move, the feeling of wasting away, of suffocating began. Then it released and all that remained was the echo of an ear-retching squeal.

The Cerynei awoke, sweat across his brow and withers. He looked around with a start but he was alone, his body just as strong and healthy as it had been when he had gone to sleep. Brahma, Prince of the Cerynei, stretched his feet to check that they still worked and meandered down to a nearby stream for a cool drink. Now days, it was dangerous to even test the water but he trusted that the snow that fell was still pure and it was that melted snow that filled this stream. Whether he admitted it, there was still a chance. For like in his dream, there was something killing this forest, his home and that of his ancestors. The forest that had been given to them was dying.

I’m not ready. He thought in desperation. I still have so much to learn. Father, I need your guidance. What am I supposed to do?

Despite being a prince and raised to lead, he wasn’t quite sure he could stand on his own. He raised his antlered head from the pool as though an answer might become apparent. The Prince had a calm outward image, regal, collected, and intelligent. However, Brahma was not ready to answer the questions being asked of him when he had no answers for his own. His father had not realized the devastation to the land, insisting that whatever it was would subside. Brahma was forced to see that it was not the case but he still believed in the wisdom of his father and his fathers before him. Had he known that this was permanent, what would he have done?

Brahma was similar to his father, he liked to believe. His constitution was shaky: while healthy, he balked in the face of danger and hardship, becoming a blubbering fool. On one hand, he had responsibility, honed into him as a born ruler. But on the other, he had his self-centered nature, nurtured in childhood, which asked him to continue as his father had, to bury himself in the mud like a hibernating amphibian waiting for better times to emerge.

It was his people that kept him out of the mud and stuck in sanity. It was no comfort to him but he could not abandon them. This very reluctance and loyalty combination kept him from choosing the only clear option: to leave this place. This was all he knew, all his people knew. He did not know what was beyond the forest and even those among his people who had seen beyond it attempted to comprehend what they saw. It was as different as water and fire, earth and air. He did not like it but every day he came closer and closer to choosing that option. All he wanted was the ancestors – for he was sure it was really they who guided and watched over the herd – to show him if there was another way.

Suddenly a knot formed in his chest and he sputtered, water washing up from his throat in a bile-like substance, trickling from the sides of his mouth before he was aware of what had happened. Like in his dream, a fear ceased him. What if he had caught the sickness himself? What if his end was coming? Without a leader, the Cerynei would most definitely decay faster, in disarray and despair. If he was suffering, if they were suffering, then they must leave. And then… if they …when they.

Just as suddenly, his thoughts slowed down. The pain subsided completely and his head cleared as though it had never happened. Was it the ancestors talking to him? Was it their sign? Without a second thought, he decided that was what had to be down. He must return to the others immediately and put plans into action. Right away, he sprang off to do just that. Because, the spirits forbid, he stop and consider that even he, the prince, was being poisoned by this land.

{790 words... hopefully that's not too long >>;; }

The crisp air that filled Rasul's nostrils carried the scent of despair. Standing guard at the peek of his hillside, he looked into the valley below. Fires raged uncontrollably sending up embers, that danced and spiraled up to the stars, carried by the wind that helped them to spread and ravage his lands. Taking in a deep breath, his nostrils flared as he closed his eyes, thinking of words that had been told by the prophets for many moons. The death of everything the Cerynei now know was upon them, there would be no escaping this fate.

He thought back to his days as a fawn. They had been carefree, though he was always kept under the watchful eyes of the guards who were in charge of his care. He and his friends were known to frolic in the very valleys that were now being consumed by fires with an insatiable hunger. His thoughts then turned to the members of his kingdom, he could see each of their faces, filled with fear and worry. He could see the young fawns that now were small and meek, unable to frolic and enjoy the lands as they had once known. She shook his head, his eyes slowly opened. Tears had formed in the golden orbs as he thought.

Rasul had limited options. They could stay, try to avoid the fire...scrounge for food...listen to their family and friends call out when they were trapped by the flames. Or, the could accept the fact that it was time for the prophecy to be filled. They would have to return to the lands of their ancestors, long past, that now looked over and guided them from the stars above. Looking up to the sky, watching the silent dance of the flickering stars above, he called out to his ancestors. He begged for guidance, for forgiveness, and for strength. He begged for wisdom, knowledge, and the ability to guide his kingdom to safety.

The dark sky of night soon gave way to the morning sun, the dark smoke of the fires no longer hidden in the night. With a heavy heart, he knew that he must move the Cerynei. They must leave or they would loose many due to the flames, starvation, or predators that searched for food. Rasul bellowed out for the members of his kingdom to wake. He was letting them know to head towards the meeting grounds, it was time that he shared his decision with them all. As he neared others, his posture changed, his head held high he carried himself with a false confidence. He knew he could not lead his people if he were not confident in the decision he made.

Once the Cerynei had gathered, he took a deep breath and looked to his council that stood behind him. Many of them nodding in agreement. He turned to face the herd and began,
"Brothers and Sisters of the Cerynei, this decision has weighed heavily on my heart. It has been decided, for the safely of us all, we will be leaving lands of our home...We are to return to the lands of our ancestors. The prophecy is beginning..."

Fire. Once he had admired it. The wild cackle of the flames, fire was free; fire was content, fire had control. Control, the mere word made his eyes shut and inhale sharply – a sign of suppressed pain. For he was the Prince and he could never show pain – never show any emotions – emotions was a sign of weakness and for his sake, for the sake of the Cerynei he could never be weak. The fires had engulfed what was once his, what was once theirs and he, too, had been weakened by it. Control, did he still have it? Would his people still believe him? Did they still believe in him? He shut his eyes, wishing that he could detach from this world and enter a different place, a better place. Did they blame for this? Did he blame himself?

Yes. He had once stared into the fire and had seen ambition, freedom and power reflected in its glowing talons. The Prince had once stared into the flames and saw someone, something he wanted so desperately to be. Such an image was now shattered. He had fed the fire, this he knew. His secret attraction to it had fueled the destruction, and now his people were paying a price for his foolish actions. His father and those before him had done so much better; they had been so much wiser than he. Cerynei were dying, Cerynei were dead and all because of this monster he had created. He could taste the smoke in his mouth, breath it in. This entire land – one that once upon a time had been a paradise – was drenched in it, soaked in blood and tears. It was his beast; his monster and still he remained untouched, unharmed physically by the flames. This was the worst punishment of all, to see the innocents tortured inside of himself. They were being weakened and still he stood strong, it was a curse.

Or was it?

The fires were relentless, this he knew. The Prince had given them power in his admiration and now they processed more power than his people could rival. They had shed enough tears to dose this fire and still it roared through the land. Bringing the Garden of Eden to its knees. It would be better; this whole place would’ve been better without him. But he was here. So surely, surely he was still standing for a reason. The Prince had to believe that, if he had no further purpose than he had destroyed his people. He had brought them into misery, now; the least he could do was bring them out of it. They could not rebuilt this land, for all efforts would be in vain, so they would have to run. They would have to leave, leave for something better, somewhere pure, somewhere where the fire would never touch their skin ever again. The Prince stood still for a moment, his thoughts no longer mere words, but a silent promise to the Cerynei.

The sky was dark now, and the Prince was unsure whether it was merely night or smoke filling the air. Ever since the destruction had begun he had lost track of the days, lost track of time, his only measurement was the number of deaths. He could not make out a star, not a single twinkle of guidance. Fear swelled inside him, pounding louder than his heart. What would lead them away? His mouth tightened, his breathes becoming deep as the nerves built. Did it really matter? Anywhere but here would be better, anywhere. And there was instinct, for once his people had left another land; perhaps he would be able to return the Cerynei there. This would be their last journey; this was another promise to them. He meant every one of them.

Underneath the smoke he rallied his people, all those that remained. Every face was accounted for, every soul burned into his mind. He would not forget a single one of them; he would not fail any of them. His voice was strangled, words choked out as pain engulfed him.

“I see your faces, I hear your cries,” he spoke slowly, every word a reflection of the pain inside him, “and I will not turn away in your hour of need. We are starting anew, letting not the deaths of our fellows – the departure of those we loved so – be in vain. We will not forget, but we will not mourn any longer. Come, for we are shedding ourselves of this pain. There is a new chapter forming, a new place for us to belong. I am bringing you to a better place, a place where you will all be safe. I will not fail you…”

Not again, he echoed silently in the refuge of his mind. He would not fail them ever again.

( 808 words, I hope that's not too long. D: )

Dominique sighed as at gazed around at his once fruitfull land. What once was green and golden now lay is waster, in shades of grey and brown. He could recall the summer days as a fawn when the air was sweet with the honey suckle and jasmine carried on the gentle breezes. Now the winds whiped unforgivingly over the barren lands carrying the sench of sickness and death. It broke his heart to see his home in such ruin, especially since it was once he stuff of legend and folk lore. His land had once been so celestial, now it lay in decay.

Dominqiue was not stupid. He knew that actions must be taken. He knew that his herd must move on, for fear of extinction. But there was something in side of his nagging. It told him that this place which now lay in defeat could, once again, rise to be the great land it was foretold to be. After all, who could say what the future held? If he did leave and the land enriched once more, who's to say that it would still be vacant. Perhaps the less worthy Soquili from near by lands would take it over. He scoffed at the idea.

No. He would not be the weak kings that his father was before him. They were Cerynei, the most beautiful, wisest, and most greacefull breed of them all. And this was thier home. It was thier cradle and it would be thier coffins. He could not help it if his herd did not have the broader vision that he did. He couldn't help it if they didn't see what he did.

So it was settled, he thought with a slight nod. They would stay. This was the Realm of the Cerynei, and he'd be damned if something as trvial as drought, or decay would pluck them from thier homes. they would be the strong and regal breed that they had made thier reputations to be... and they would stay.

He narrowed his eyes at the sickly thinning herd, both in population and in weight. A stary wind would pick them all up, no doubt. Even he was sick with hunger. But he wasn't leaving. And neither were they.

But Dominique was not stupid. He knew well of his unpopularity. And he kenw well of the revolutionaries who planned to over throw his rule. And he knew that he, as thin and sick as he was, was no match for the angry masses. So, he supposed, his main issue now was not the survival of his herd, but the survival of his rule. Plans had to be made among only his most trusted advisors, actions must be taken to take out the traitors, and blood will be spilt before the night was out.

If it was the last thing Dominique did, and it may very well would be, he would stop this revolution, and he would keep his family at rule. And his heir would continue his legacy as ruler. And there would be no... democracy.

((Sorry, learning about the French Revolution in history... couldn't help it))

It was difficult sometimes, being the Prince.

He was just as concerned as his herd, but they looked to him for guidance. He saw just two options. They could stay in their lands and die a slow, painful death...or they could leave, to search for a more habitable land to abide in.

His people were sick and dying. The land that had once nourished them was failing, its green forest and thick meadows fading into a brown wasteland. Still...this was home. This was where they had lived for ages. It was hard for him to admit that his beloved forest was decaying. Some of the others wanted to stay, try to tend to the forest in the hopes of reviving its dying foliage. More than anything, the Prince wanted to believe that it was possible to revive his home. He looked out around him, taking in the rusting leaves of the trees, the crunch of dead grass beneath his hooves. Could they really save this?

No...it was impossible.

If they stayed, they would die. The forest was almost completely dead, nothing could be done.

Then there was only one choice. He must rally his herd, gather them all together. They would leave...or perish. But where would they go? This land was all they knew. Gathering his apprehensions of the future, he swallowed his fear. He was the leader of his herd. They had no choice except to leave, for if they stayed they would all die. Therefore, he would lead them into foreign lands. He couldn't appear before his herd with a trace of fear in his eyes. If they thought he was afraid, they would panic.

Always, ever, the herd came first. If they needed him to be strong, then he would be. It was as simple as that.

The Prince turned, his face a mask of calm determination. He would go gather his family...and they would start their journey.

Aeneas had watched as the forest slowly decayed, his people struggling to survive. This was no way for them to live, but until now, he hadn't been able to think of any way to save them.

It had been by chance that he had walked by the storyteller as she had regaled some of the foals with stories, trying to keep up their spirits. She had been telling them how they had originally come to the forest, and that struck a chord in the young prince.

Perhaps he couldn't save them here, but what if they were to leave. What if they were to go back to their ancestors home. It couldn't be any worse there than it was here.