Bruja slips daggers into pool of folage
that rises above his haunches.
Amber optics scan the area from his crude shelter.
Satisfied, mascule gives his mighty
crown a toss upon exiting the folage.
Twin peaks swivel toward virberations of others
vocalizing near by.
Dial rotates toward them as he takes a step forward.
Noting that they were not interested,
he continues forward, seeking out the
one who had the gift to give gifts.
Although he wasn't quite sure what he
wanted from the power giver,
He knew he wanted something.
A drop of rain on his shoulder
tells him what.
Thunder rolls above, a proud
roar echoing a flash of light
in the distence.
Vocal threds vibrate deep and
pure as a summer storm,
Calling out to the power giver.

I desire the power to control and/or
generate Thunder storms.

He was born, Exiled Rouge
He had lived, 4 winters
He had grown, unicorn
He was destained, Bruja