Home was so close behind him... he'd only just left, if he wanted to, he could turn around right now. If he turned around right here, he was sure that everyone would still be standing in the courtyard, his mother's eyes full of tears and his father, stony-faced as he'd been since Vys expressed a desire to leave. If he turned now, maybe his father would smile. If he turned, Mother would run to him, wrap her arms around his waist and never let him leave. Somehow, his feet continued their plodding, cloven hooves trampling grass and clovers as the winding, trampled trail disappeared. A shaky breath fought its way past his mouth; from this point onward, he was no longer under magical protection, no longer hidden by the fortress that his family had built up around their keep. If he turned now...
...he wouldn't be able to find his way back. His head swiveled, chancing a glance at the pathway that he had only just stepped off of, only to find the woods extending behind him, just as thick as they were before him. His legs quivered and a nervous smile pulled at his lips. Lost though he was, he was free. Though Father disagreed with his desires, he relented. Alone and naive he may have been, but Vys Wildthorn was going to make a difference in this lonely world, no matter what risks he might come to.
---
The forest was thick. The forest was endless. Like a winding maze, Vys was never certain whether he was coming or going, turned around this way and that by look-alike trees and the rare shaft of sunlight that permeated the thick canopy above him. Sometimes he wondered if he would have been happier staying at home, with upkeep comparable to the treatment of a fine painting, but the idea was discarded as soon as it came into his head. He loved his family, his home, and his people -- but there was more to the world than just them. There were young babies, crying alone; there were starving children, curled up in alleyways with empty bellies; there were women being beaten and killed in the streets; and Vys was not going to stand for it anymore. He wanted no more of the dreams, the nightmares, the voices in the back of his head begging, begging, begging for the help of someone they'd never known, someone they never would know.
I'm going to change that. The nightmares grew less the further he moved. The voices sounded less pained, less insistent, less terrifying as they clawed at his mind. He knew he had done nothing, yet felt with absolute certainty that he was on the right path.
HELP! The thought was so loud and fervent that Vys stumbled backward where he stood, feeling as though he'd just been screamed at. Yet his bright eyes found nothing in the vicinity. The cry sounded again in his head, and he pointed himself in the direction it pulled him toward. Heart pounding in his chest, the unitaur sped toward the noise, stumbling over roots and bounding over bushes, but it was all for naught. The scene he arrived to was enough to make his stomach churn and the young man shuddered and turned away. The remnants of an ambush was the only idea he had. A family of cattaur were bloodied and motionless, contorted where they fell.
The cry came again. One black ear twitched and he glanced back at the wreckage hesitantly, certain that none of those poor creatures were able to make a sound any longer. When a soft whimper came from one of the surrounding trees, his eyes grew wide, and he took slow steps through the area, ears alert for any spare sound before he found it. Nestled in a blanket at the foot of the tree was a tiny baby cattaur, undoubtedly orphaned by the massacre that he'd arrived at. Vys sucked in a breath as he knelt down, outstretching a hand before the sound of his father's voice boomed in his mind, louder than the thoughts of the infant 'taur despite being no more than a memory.
It's for their safety as much as ours, Vys. Our magic is powerful, too powerful, and volatile at that. You would not want to risk endangering those you wish to protect, would you? It was the man's most prominent argument, and one that almost made his son give up this foolhardy quest. But it didn't, he reminded himself, taking a shaky breath and stepping away from the young cattaur. With a simple gesture, he pulled small, winged balls of light from his hand, each a different colour. As the light dimmed, their forms solidified; little two-legged fairies, with bodies like women and faces like girls. As he slowly stepped away, he directed the fairies in their comforting, letting them dance about the young child, one of them even going so far as to land on her nose.
