Iktome Plains Inop tuKua tikillugu

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The darkness pursued him, snapping at the child’s heels as if it were a rabid dog. His fairies weren’t there to guide him, their own fear having prevented them from crossing back over into his world. When he had first seen the darkness, he’d not known what it was or what it was capable of. Bramble had been a fool back then, assuming that the shadows were just fairies that had lost their glow, but they were far from it. They were death, negative energy, and destruction. They were sorrow and grief, anger and terror—they left him all but paralyzed in horror. The shadows sought to wrap their arms around him, to drag him down into the abyss that was their world, but he refused to go willingly. Bramble ran as fast and far as his legs could carry him, traveling through various territories and seeing so many sights that it almost made his head spin. Had he not been so panicked, perhaps he would have lingered in each place a little longer to admire the sights, but his heart beat never slowed and neither had his legs.

By the time the dethroned Prince of the Glade had reached the plains, he was weak and weary. Although he was on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion, he’d pressed onward still, up until his paws had snagged on a clump of grass. Twisted up, he’d fallen forward and slid across the earth, shocked and far too beaten down to get back up. With his sides heaving, the child remained there in the dirt, oblivious to the other wolves in the area.

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