Sure-footed, his steps against a marbled floor echoed in his ears before coming to a stable rest. He was cold, but wasn't shivering; he was alone, but unafraid; he was lost, but resolute. Even if the world had not been made for him, he could still deem it so, if nothing more than on a personal level. The swathes of color against the dark backdrop created a brilliance, and it became a point of solace to know that only he could see it as it was right now, from his current perspective, hooves rooted in the earth.
With a soft breath, ears swiveled forward, cracks not unlike blackened lightning raced across the sky. The streaks, in their permanence, widened in size before the whole of the scene before his eyes splintered and fell as thick feathers at his feet. The once-vibrant hues of the sky tracked color as it fluttered to a stop, sharp as shards of glass. The beauty and clarity that had once occupied this corner of the world was shattered in the span of a whistle, effectively turning into a minefield for unlucky travelers.
His shoulders quivered against the frosty winds, and suddenly he found himself longing for the comfort of others.
...Had this been his fault?
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