In many ways, Elijah was lucky he had been born to this woman and not another. His mannerisms and lack of development would have signaled the error in his mind and marked him as sick. More savage creatures, like his half-brother with the golden eyes, recognized this. Elijah was oblivious to such things, for he did not see himself as any different. He was too young to know, and too caught up in his fantasy world to care.
Alaine’s reinforcement of his speech had taught him that it was expected, so he would do so for her. Yet as they headed to the stables, the transformation occurred as it always did when he made it into the tall grass. Stiff-legged, the boy began to frolic and jump to and fro, tossing his head and making those odd hybrid sounds neither dog nor horse. With a white-tip to bear as a marker, he plunged into the deepest shades of green and galloped onward. This was his favorite thing, and likely always would be. When he was a stallion, he was untouchable. When he was a stallion, he was king and the world was never cruel.
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