Will stared down at the Earth below, overlooking the rolling green of Wales, little white clusters, sheep, moving around wildly, but not breaking formation. Large lakes shone brightly, but not as bright as heaven. The moment Will had risen up to the Angel, he acquired his youth once more, his grayish hair turning the colour ebony once more, the crinkles and creases on his skin disappearing, his Marks darkening, his muscles strengthening and turning iron-corded.
He ran his hands through his onyx black hair, his calloused fingers lingering over the left side of his forehead. He was in gear; in fact, he couldn't come out of it. His house was just like the London Institute; Charlotte, Henry, and even Ella, who had never seen the spires of the Institute… all, were there. Just two of them weren't, two Jem and Tessa shaped pieces had been carved out of his heart.
His eyes shone, with either tears or passion, Will did not know. He looked up from the Welsh scene, reminiscent of the vale he had seen in that opium induced dream all those years ago, and scanned the sky. A thundering figure, obsidian black, was rushing towards him like torrents of water. Slowing down to a trot, the black stallion looked into Will's blue eyes understandingly.
"Take me home, Balios."
That last line killed you didn't it. You know it did, don't lie.
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