The silence that came after was more terrifying than the beast on top of him.
A dark shadow fell upon the forest's clearing and the beaming sunlight that had passed through the trees all but vanished. Day turned to night in a matter of seconds.
The flying wolf had lost its little mind.
It backed away from Ísar but was growling and swivelling its big body left and right. The way it was foaming at the mouth made the young king scramble to crawl away until his back hit a tree.
Gaston!
He turned to his right, to where he remembered the young lord had been thrown to and his eyes widened. Gaston was standing up straight, deathly still. The young lord's head hung low with the strands of his hair covering most of his face.
The beast continued to shake and howl, its paws stamping on the ground in what Ísar could've only guessed to be madness.
Then Gaston raised his head and Ísar stared at the boy's now glazed, icy blue eyes in horror.