proud-taguel-warrior
Numbed hands rubbed against his bare arms, as he yanked them closer to his person in a pathetic attempt to warm up. Watching as his warm breath appeared in visible puffs against the chilled air, but shoving his feet through the snow regardless of how much the sight made him want to turn around; to find safety and warmth back home. But he tucked his ears back, tail wrapping around his small frame, and struggled forward.
He must have looked the part of a fool, and he certainly felt like one. He could have transformed long ago, and found comfort within the cover of his own fur, but he disliked shifting. He had no ties to the blood that flowed within him, and that very blood had turned fangs on his beloved brother too many years ago to count. The Laguz had only betrayed them, and he hardly wanted to embrace a culture that would discard them so easily; so openly. And he might have been a moron for not shifting now, but a moron he would gladly be.
After all, he was in the mess due to his own fault. Having stolen a letter to Sakhr about a request from the Queen to deliver something. Knowing the man's body had been failing him as of late, the child had hidden the letter from his brother. And, now, here he was, lost and searching for the location on the crinkled piece of paper in order to take some of the burden off of his brother. But it appeared he had only made more trouble for the older man.
Tossing the thoughts aside, Ziya shoved his way forward, but he misjudged the distance. His foot smacking into a thin sheet of snow that gave way under the boy's light weight. Tumbling down the edge of a steep slope, as it dragged the child down with it. Throwing him over the edge in a flurry of cold and wet mush. A startled yelp leaving his mouth, as he slipped, rolling down the incline until he bashed his back and head against the solid ground that he was met with. A hiss of pain leaving his mouth, as he curled up on the ground. Dry hands reaching up to hold his head, as a whimper escaped his throat.