It was cold.
It was dark.
And it was perfect for a time to fly.
Prince Brock looked around his room for a second. The griffin guards turned right at 12:51. It was 12:49 right now, so they would be heading towards here soon.
Drat.
Brock closed the window with a frustrated sigh and bounced on his bed. Time to think of a new plan. He quickly switched off the lights and hopped into the bed, snoring as loud as he could.
He would trick the guards into believing he was asleep, then escape until 8. He continued to snore until the guards knocked on the door.
"Prince Brock of the Griffin Kingdom?"
Honk. The prince snored louder, twisting and turning. The guards looked at each other for a moment, and shrugged. They turned back and continued their route.
Brock smiled. The guards were dumb as rocks.
Next time, I should use a tape of me snoring. Brock grinned as he opened the windows again and jumped out. He quietly closed them, tossed a few pillows in the bed and stuffed them, and finally flapped outside.
The night was beautiful. The stars twinkled brightly, the moon glowed brilliantly. Brock might as well be the prince of the night. He quickly dashed downwards into the forest to avoid his father's griffin guards. Even if they were dumb, they still did their job. Gave them a good load of meat to feast on.
Brock danced around in the forest and continued to fly forward towards the clearing. He dodged trees faster than ever, pretending to be an airplane.
"Woosh!" Brock smiled at himself playfully and kept on dodging the trees for a few more minutes. After a while, he stopped. The clearing was right ahead.
His claws dug into the dirt and gravel as he walked towards it.
A large lake and a high stone mountain perched beside it. Brock sighed as he released the dirt and gravel from his claws and picked another pile up again.
Up and down.
Round and round.
He walked slowly with a sort of 'princely' pace. His mind was focused on the lake and the stone mountain. He finally stopped right in front of the lake.
He looked down at his own reflection in the water. He stared at himself for a long time.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
He raised a claw as he looked at himself. The reflection copied him. He put down the claw. The reflection copied him again.
Finally, after a while of testing his reflection, he flapped upwards until he could fly no more. He stared down at the lake, at the rock, the Griffin Royale Castle.
What was the point of life?
He looked around the atmosphere silently as he rested on a thick cloud. He glanced towards the forest, expecting a troop of griffin guards searching for him like every day of the week.
None?
Brock frowned.
He remembered when his mother was still here. When she hadn't been carried away.
When they were a peaceful country.
"Ey, boyo?" King of the Griffins, Ryder Thorn, peered out. His son didn't respond. He chuckled to himself.
It was Saint Patty's Day (Ryder like to call it that, since he was from the 'spiritual' part of the Griffin Kingdom and had adopted a full-on Ireland accent), Brock's birthday. Queen Ingrid Hunter was out with Brock, practicing sword fighting and hunting. Ryder was supposed to aid them in a few minutes.
"Ay, me lad!" A voice sprung from behind Ryder. He turned around and smiled at his brother, Zane Wyman. "How are ya Zane-o?" Ryder asked. Zane grinned cheerfully, but ignored the question.
"Where's ya little laddy?" Ryder rolled his eyes at first, but then chuckled heartedly and grinned.
"Lad's at sword fightin' with 'is mother. They'd better be back by 12." He glanced outside the window. Zane nodded and gave a honest smile.
"Don't worry Ry-o. He's comin' home. Ya better go and aid 'em now."
"Shush! Look at it." Ingrid placed a talon to her son's lips and pointed towards the fat lion.
"Why're we hunting mini creatures? How about dragons for a change?" The teenage Brock groaned.
"This is a lion, Brocky. Be patient and you'll have the dragon later. Now, I'll go in first and then you." A second after she had said that, she leaped up into the air and roared at the lion.
Brock expected the lion to be scared, but instead, it growled at his mother and slashed the air fiercely. He quickly flapped by his mother and started to roar at the lion again, only to receive the same response from it. Ingrid quickly slashed at its face.
"Brock-o! I'm coming!" Brock turned around and saw a distant flying griffin (his father, he supposed) flapping towards him. He turned back again and saw his mother trying to fight the lion.
"Brock-H-HELP!" She struggled as they slashed and leaped at each other. He desperately tried to slash at the lion, but failed. The lion roared, made a scar on Ingrid's face, and tugged her claw as she tried to slash him again.
"BROCK-O!" Ryder desperately flapped towards the lion and roared his biggest roar.
No response. The lion tugged at Ingrid's claw and finally grabbed her away.
"Ryder! Brock!" She screamed as the lion held her in his mouth and ran away. Brock and Ryder chased after the lion, but was no match for its agility and speed.
"INGRID!" Ryder screamed back as he panted and puffed towards the lion. After a long time of chasing, Brock and Ryder gave up.
This happened at the great lake.
Brock recalled his memories painfully. His head twisted and turned. Images of his father screaming and shrieking as the lion ran away.
His father had never been as friendly after that. He had declared several alliance-tear-ups against the Wild part of Equestria.
Brock looked down at the great lake sadly.
He jumped. Headfirst into the cold lake. A mighty splash as he touched the surface of the water.
Enveloped in guilt, water, and coldness.
He was frightened.
He was sad.
He was angry at himself.
Brock tried to drown himself in his guilt and sorrow. He couldn't. He plunged deeper and deeper, the water becoming more and more mustier in return.
“Prince Brock?”
A faint yell echoed through his mind.
“Prince Brock, are you there?”
He was afraid.
“Little laddy.”
That sounded…like his old dad.
Brock tried to call out. His mouth instantly filled with globs of water. He flapped his wings in panic and tried to reposition himself towards the surface.
Why was this lake so big?
He squirmed and squiggled, desperately trying to grab at a rock, only to have it slip and fall down to the seabed of the lake.
It was only moments before he heard the soft ‘plonk’ of the rock.
“Little laddy?”
His father. Calling out to him.
Brock was losing oxygen rapidly. The bubbles flew up to the surface. He prayed to Saint Patrick that his father would see them.
Pop.
The bubbles faded away.
Brock silently cried. There was no hope for him. He looked up for the very last time and closed his eyes.
3.
2.
1.
Brock quietly whispered, knowing that no one could hear him.
‘Where are you, mother?”
