The young stallion heaved a sigh, warily, exhaustedly, limping his way through the thick foliage of the woods. He was alive, which was great, but his shoulder absolutely ached, as did his back, his flank, and he'd broken a front claw in his attempts to dislodge the stallion whom had attacked him. All his life he'd heard stories that Angeni were good and kind and meant to aid. . . Well, those stories were wrong! That horned, four-winged, beast was nothing but a monster, and he'd . . . He'd hurt him! His poor, poor, feather mane and tail were in tatters,and he was beginning to pick at them in paranoid anxiety. They were molting because of the stress, and Paku'iku'i inwardly bemoaned his fate. This wasn't how things were supposed to go at all! What a fool he'd been for leaving the safety of the flock, for making his escape, for wanting to find more. So far all he'd found was loneliness, hunger, and pain. . .
Gah!
He wanted to slap at the slush, but didn't dare. He didn't want to make noise. He didn't want to capture the attention of another monster, and oh, the blue eyed stallion was very much afraid of such a fate. That beast had laughed at him, had . . . . had eaten parts of him, and had said he'd be back for more! The bite marks that littered him were proof enough of his attack, and he feared greatly that he was at risk of infection. It . . . was hard on his own. Some of his wounds he couldn't quite reach, much less tend to, and he'd yet to find a unicorn to heal him. "The lucky Paku . . .killed within a year of leaving," he spoke quietly to himself, biting back a bitter laugh. Still, he kept his ears pricked and strained, trying to hear of any movement. Everything made him jump these days - - from the wind causing the leaves to sing, or a twig snapping beneath his weight. Ngh.
What was worse was the fact that knew his wounds were drawing the attention of others. While the bleeding had stopped, mostly, he occasionally did rip open the wound just by walking. . . but he had to find some stream, some water. The puddles of melting snow weren't enough to lean himself, or his feathers. Furthermore, sometimes he heard the movement of wolves and coyotes. While they weren't necessarily dangerous, it was winter, and food was scarce all around. That stallion had tried to eat him, but he'd gotten away. . . no, he correct, he'd been allowed to get away. He wanted him to suffer, wanted him to . . . to what? To die? To fear him? To be taken down by another monster? Ngh.
. . . was dying young as a free soquili worse than dying old as a broken slave? His father loved him, in his dysfunctional way. And it hadn't been a bad life -- he'd been fed, groomed, pampered to become a Whistler just like his father. And yet . . . it . . . . he couldn't do it. He felt hollow, he felt used, and he felt completely insincere when he tried to attract the ladies. Hell, he even felt fake when he flirted with the other stallions, but at least with them, some of them were handsome enough. Unfortunately, though, the longer he stayed and tried to be what he'd been groomed to be, the less happy he became. So he had taken his chances and fled, so he might be his own stallion, so he might . . . do all the things he dreamed of doing. Unfortunately, life was throwing him for unexpected loops, and . . . he . . . wasn't really sure what to do.
His feather cape was dirty and blood stained, the only family heirloom he had. He still had various other bits of jewelry, some herbs, some stashed grasses that were old and dry, but still tasty enough to chomp on, and various treasures he'd acquired along the way. Maybe, just maybe, they'd finally do him some good. The young stallion was resilient for being easily broken, and while he looked a bit of a mess, he was still alive. That was something, even if he weren't in an ideal spot. Thankfully, rumor had it there was a mercenary that was travelling through these lands, and . . . well. . . Paku'iku'i was desperate. He had no unicorn blood, he knew no unicorn, and his wounds were going to need time to heal. Furthermore, if that blasted four-winged beast came back, maybe he'd have some protection. Ugh. If only he didn't look such a pathetic wreck! Still. .. perhaps that would help argue his case and his need.
The trick was finding him . . . whoever he was. Maybe they could make a deal. Surely Paku was charming enough even for that, wasn't he?
So it was, step by careful limping step, the stallion hoped luck was on his side so he could find this mystery stallion Sakima.
