Hi, I'm sorry. I have a huge project due frighteningly soon, but im here anyways. Comments are officially down, so I apologize to anyone who has tried to comment and failed. I'm working on it, and I will get back to you. Without further ado (because who likes ado?) perhaps though hast read it incorrectly. WARNING: This one wound up way sadder than I meant. I'm sorry guys!
The boy was so cold. It seemed to surround him, leaving him empty, hollowed out by the icy wind. His fingertips were already tinged blue and his breath came in white gusts. He shivered inside the hay stack, his horn beside him. Why had he run away from home? Only a crook would employ a kid like him, and a crook definitly had. He worked for hours with spiteful sheep who butted him and stole his sparse food when he called. The only thing that soothed these savage beasts was a blast on a mouldering trumpet given to him on his first day. He didn't like to think about who had used it last.
He couldn't focus his thoughts any longer. The cold surrounded him, clutching him in a deadly embrace. His muscles tensed against it , but relaxed. He felt warm, truly warm for the first time since the weather had turned. He relaxed, and allowed it to flow through his muscles. He gave in at long last to a sudden desire for sleep, and for freedom.
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