Desreal: pikachuuu.

"Abra was ready ere I called her name;
And though I call'd another, Abra came."
-- Matthew Prior

“You were there?” He looked up surprised, the wind around them pushing his forelock across his eyes. He shook his head in amusement, his long curved ears flopping loudly against his skull. “So tell me,” He allowed a small smile to creep across his muzzle. “How were his last moments spent?” Groveling? Glorious? Did the white beast die a beast or a worm?

Which of course, allotted the other question. Who killed him?

That unspoken question lingered on his lips, danced in the back of his brain, stole across his dark eyes. Who? While Severus was no warrior, it would have taken a horse of great fortitude (and perhaps barbarity) to so mercilessly slay the Wraith. And why? Why had the Wraith been killed?

Surely not because of the shard. For the winter-bringer’s answer indicated she did not know where it had gone.

These questions lingered silently around the duo. Alcatraz shifted his weight, his eyes settling on the wolf-mare in a new light. While he had never assumed she was innocent, it was surprising to see a queen in such a situation. Did queens ever lose their composure?

That churning laugh once more spilled from his gnarled lips as he thought.

“Then I, friend, shall go to the wild.”

Oh, the Wild does house wicked things..

A L C A T R A Z
"I believe there are monsters born in the world to human parents. . . . The face and body may be perfect, but if a twisted gene or a malformed egg can produce physical monsters, may not the same process produce a malformed soul?" -- John Steinbeck, East of Eden