The world was passing him by in dreamy streaks of color and light. Stretching himself, Sigefrith broke into a full gallop, his legs moving in perfect unison with oneanother; if anyone were to ride him, they would likely barely notice any movement at all. As he passed beside a tree, he began to feel apprehensive. How did he shift back into a human? He didn't think he could bare the city yet. What if he flipped out? He was scared of it; scared of the noises.
A small grove of trees lay up ahead; Sigefrith slowed to a canter, wanting to see how he did in the trees. In a few seconds he was in it, passing momentarily from Delumier's sight. The ground was uneven, but not rocky - if anything, slippery from fallen leaves.

The fjord sensed a strange smell with his hightened senses, and snorted uneasily. It wasn't anything he knew or imagined to know, and it smelt distinctly dangerous. Metallic. Yet he couldn't see anything; and he still felt like was being watched. Nervous, he sped up again. Whatever it was that gave him that feeling, it was coming from the trees.

A sharp, thin whistle pierced his ears for the briefest period of time, and then something impacted his left haunch. Pain flashed through him and the leg jerked upwards in reaction to it. Unable to react soon enough, he somehow managed to stumble onwards for a few strides three-legged, but then crashed to the ground, scattering up a cloud of dust.
Sigefrith's head was spinning, the breath driven out of his body. That something - whatever it had been - was a sharp point of agony in his left leg.

Unknowing, a dull glow formed around the colt, and after a few moments, the small boy was lying in the grass, his hand clutched around his thigh, a long, black-feathered arrow protruding from it. He didn't seem to realize he had changed; he was completely oblivious to his cry of pain, coming much later, only now when he was in his true shape.


*****

The hulking figure of the scout stood still in the shadow of the small copse of trees on the meadow. The male fingered the horn bow that he held in his right hand, though his keen eyes were in reality fixed on the point where the young horse had fallen. He snorted at the sharp call of pain from the child, and turned away, slipping the bow back into his quiver. There was no excuse for what he had done, but he didn't care. There was too little pain in the world - besides, it wasn't as if Kerridian cared. The more humans and shifters that died, the better. It was his mercy to the weak to not kill them instantly, as he could easily have done. He hadn't even thought about killing - only causing pain.
Whenever his anger got penned up, he hurt someone. It didn't matter whether he knew them or not, or who they were - if they were there, too bad. The bitterness at his herd's treatment of him was Cyrus' constant companion. Seeing that young boy so joyous today had been enough to set him off. Why should anyone else be happy when he had to suffer for something not his own fault?
They knew how degrading it was to be the scout - it was because of his abilities that he was that scout that went into the city. Unlike them, he could go unnoticed as a human or horse. A curse worse than Lupar's! The centaur bared his teeth bitterly, but he didn't retreat. There had been a mare with the boy - he wanted her to see him in all his glory and know what the centaurs were capable of.
The massive, brutish body of the centaur was a sight to behold as he trotted into the meadow, towards the boy. The blue mare would come and intercept him before he reached the victim, but that was alright.

|words: 684
|comments: Just thought I'd add something interesting....

Sigefrith gasped, trying to force himself to calm down; not to panic. The pain was worse than anything he'd ever expirienced before. But it wasn't just how much it hurt - it was the actual sight of an arrow protruding from his thigh that made him feel sick. The blood was already seeping from the wound and staining his trousers. He had clamped his hands just above the wound, which helped a little, but not enough. And his mind was awhirr, not comprehending the reason. The world seemed to be passing him by, moving slowly, and then quickly - not that he really noticed. It seemed he couldn't really see anything at all - there was just the arrow in his leg. His stomach squirmed, and he clenched his eyes shut, to block out the blood and as a resort against the pain. Why? Why? Moans escaped his mouth, but he didn't cry, even if his eyes were tearing. Sigefrith was cradling his leg, gently rocking it without realizing he was doing so. Where was Delumier? She had been right behind him... The boy's mind was wandering in a very unpleasant direction. What if...?
His eyes flashed open, but couldn't see more than an endless wall of grass. Where was she? Could the same assailant have gotten her as well? Verging on the edge of panic now, he released his death grip on his leg and scrambled to push himself up high enough to see. As soon as his hands were gone, the pain grew; he could feel the blood pulsing in his thigh, and if he had looked, could see it seeping in time to his pulse. He clenched his teeth shut against any loud noise; whatever, whoever it had been might want to.... finish him off.

It took the human several seconds to realize why the sky seemed so dark. He felt a wave of relief when he recognised it as Delumier - she was alright. She wasn't hurt. He couldn't see the massive black body beyond her, the being carrying a bow; he was slipping, and the grass was blocking his view. Sigefrith wondered why the healer was staring off, just standing above him and not paying attention to him. Shouldn't she be tending his wound? Something? The boy shook his head, weakly letting himself back to the ground - one hand returning just above the puncture. He trusted her. Whatever it was, she must have a good reason for not helping. When she was finished, she would help. But if it was the attacker, and she was protecting him... She couldn't get hurt because of him. Why he had been injured made no sense, but there was no reason why to stop at just maiming him. If Delumier was in the way, if she got shot...



Cyrus's coarse face was twisted by a sadistic smirk, his expression mocking the blue mare that stood protectively above his previous target. What, was she daring to defy a centaur? Shifter, shifter she might be, but she was no match for his massive, powerful body. The fury on her face was just all the more amusing for it. She could do nothing; she was wasting her time. He considered momentarily drawing an arrow on her, but it seemed pointless at the moment. It was about time the shifters began to respect his people. THey had scarred him, inwardly twisted him so that he wasn't even a centaur, but he felt no ties to them. He was still centaur - he wasn't some wolf-creature like Lupar. Yes, they tossed him aside like a weakling, he thought bitterly. To some his ability to shift would have been a blessing - but to him it was just a curse. It was the only reason he was on the fringe of centaur society. If he were normal, maybe he would be leader now instead of Lupar, the mutant. His anger showed momentarily on his face. Lupar, a visibly twisted creature, was more highly respected then Cyrus, who was centaur. Perhaps he could thank this "grace" for even being alive. Normally a mixling like himself would be slaughtered; but his use as a scout and spy just outweighed that enough to keep him alive.

"What, do you think you could keep me from killing him? Foolish, shifter." he growled mockingly, twanging his bowstring. It was horn. "I could kill you before you could shift or move." he hissed, a massive hoof crashing on the ground in emphasis.



Sigefrith remained oblivious of the centaur.

words: 769
comments: sorry this took so long ^^;