The Hunt
Hunters had caught him. He always ran from them, but this time it wasn't enough.
Now they had him.
His horn had been torn by their wolves and blood trickled down his hair and matting it into clumps.
They were nasty beasts.
The hunters had thrown a net which had heavy boulders at the end to pin Alberic to the ground. Flattened on the ground, they had pinned his wings down with pitchforks, successfully immobilizing him. Howling and thrashing about, the wounds worsened and his captors roughly bound his arms and legs with thick brass chains.
Sitting in a cage behind the carriage, the captured boy rested from his wounds. He had snowy hair, but it was hidden under all the filth and grime which gave it a dull brown look. His golden eyes shone like the sun's rays in the dim light. He hardly wore anything because of his wings, now injured, prevented him from putting a normal shirt. Chest exposed, swirling vines moved around his heart where they spread out wherever they pleased. He wore tribal pants and a scarf around his waist. His feet were bare and dirty.
His laboured breathing was all he could hear beyound the rusty squeak of the wheels.
The carriage slowed to a halt.
A stern looking man came . In the front the coaches preened while accepting the bounty money. The man unlocked Alberic's cage with a small silver key. Reaching inside, he roughly pulled at the chain and which made the boy stumble out.