I just run, run, run, down into the pits of despair.
A rock nearly twice my size rolls past, and I realise…far too late.
I’m caught in an avalanche.
If I could just outrun—
Someone shoves me aside, and then a thunderclap splits the mountain in two.
I roll the rest of the way down the slope, and the moment I stop, I get to my feet, finding him lifeless beside me. He’s not moving.
And that wasn’t the mountain cracking in two.
That was Tegwyn’s horn,shattering…
His blood pours from the broken stump, staining the perfect snow vermilion, and a strangled cry rips free from my throat, echoing through the woods and into oblivion.
He's gone.
23
Tegwyn
Thebeastspreaditsfingers far and wide, threatening to plunge the world into total darkness, but despite how terrified he was, Tegwyn closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath.
It’s just a tree. It’s just a tree…
When he opened his eyes again, it wasn’t a beast he found himself gazing at, but a tangle of twisted branches that stretched towards the sky, hiding its perfect blue from sight. The tree stood along the edge of his grandpa’s farm, and today would be the day he finally climbed it.
After all, he was six years old now, one of the big kids, and big kids don’t get scared.
So, he lifted his hands, digging his claws into the first branch. When the beast showed no sign of protest, he grabbed the next branch and then the next until he reached the top.
The sight took his breath away immediately. A gilded sea of barley swept towards the horizon, and as he breathed in through his nose, savouring the warm smells of bread and distant may blossom, he smiled.
Grandpa’s barley field was loved by all in town; Tegwyn had spent many summers running barefoot through its long, yellow stalks, but now it looked even better from above. He closed his eyes, enjoying a sweet, gentle breeze that rippled across the land, making the barley undulate like a wave of pure gold.
Summer was by far his mostfavourite season. He loved everything about it, from the lush green grass to the sizzling heat.
Through a blurry haze on the horizon, he spied the farmhouse—the only home he’d ever known. There, he helped his grandpa out on the farm, and right now, he was learning how to milk the cows.
Tegwyn had always had a way with animals. It was as if they trusted him on some intrinsic level, knowing he meant no harm, despite his alarming appearance.
One day, he would get to assist his grandpa with the shearing of the lambs. The only thing he was dreading was the dehorning process.
Every time the farmhands pinned down a ram to burn off its horns, a sharp pain burned through Tegwyn’s skull. The process looked extremely uncomfortable. As if they were stripping the young ram of his identity somehow. How could the ram hope to defend himself without his horns?
Instinctively, he reached his hand up, rubbing at a pair of fledgling nubs above his hairline.
He wasn’t sure what they were or where they’d come from. Perhaps he had bumped his head too hard.
Tegwyn did receive enough beatings from the local boys in town, after all.
His eyes landed on a distant cluster of chimneys, and he gritted his teeth, wishing he could set them ablaze with his glare.
The quaint little town ofTillyfold…
How they always stared and pointed whenever Tegwyn so much as graced its muddy lanes with his presence. Mothers shielded their babes from him whenever he passed by, and old ladies spat at his boots whenever he offered to carry their bags.
