Cole groaned as he was forced to do the set again. Left, right, left, right, forward, back, forward, back, sashay. Left, right, left, right, blah, blah, blah. His head hung to the side as he dragged his feet and his arms hung by his side. He didn't care if how well he did it - he just wanted to get it done.

"STOOOOOP!" The music screeched to a halt, the record player protesting as the instructor stormed up to the dancers. No, correction: as he stormed up to Cole.

Black, beady eyes stared at him until he mustered enough energy to stare back. Cole stood there looking apathetic, drowsy, and bored. Typical teenager. The instructor's upper lip curled in disgust.

"What do you call that?" Cole cocked an eyebrow. Limbs hanging uselessly, his mind moving like sludge, exhaustion clouded his senses and ruined his judgment. At this point, he didn't care what he did. He didn't even try to stop the attitude that crept into his voice:

"What? You mean my face?"

"Your dancing," he snarled. The old man glowered at him, looming over him with a dark intensity. He cast a large shadow over Cole, both literally and figuratively. Still, with all his knowledge and experience, he would never convince Cole that dancing was a useful pastime. If anything, it was a royal drag. "You must dance with enthusiasm. Show your audience that you care. Otherwise, you'll look like a sorry excuse for a sloth!" He eyed Cole pointedly, glaring daggers at him with his cold, dark eyes. Cole glared at him in challenge. He couldn't care less if he looked more like a sloth than a cobra - is that what we're going for? - he would rather be up in the mountains, pushing himself to the limit. Instead, he had to listen to this guy badger him when his nerves were already fried.

"Look, if you don't like my dancing, then all you had to do was ask me to leave."

"Well, if you insist." The smug smile on his face pulled Cole in like a moth to a flame; he knew that if he gave in, he would be doing exactly what the instructor wanted. His anger ignited, lit by his bruised pride.

"With pleasure!" He turned on his heel, storming towards the wooden door.

"And to think you're the son of a Royal Blacksmith." He didn't turn at the venom in the man's voice, nor did he care. At least, that was what he told himself. He paused in the door, his hand on the frame. Closing his eyes, he mustered his courage and walked out the door.

"You WHAT?!"

"They kicked me out, Dad. I'm sorry."

"Sorry isn't going to cut it. Do you know how hard I worked to get you into that school? How many strings I had to pull?" He saw the desperation in his father's eyes; his old man was pleading with him. It broke his heart and fueled his anger all at the same time.

"I can't do what doesn't make me happy."

"Dance does make you happy, Son."

"No, it makes you happy! This is your life, not mine. I don't want to be a Royal Blacksmith, Dad!" His father straightened, his expression turning cold, the pain he felt just under the surface of his eyes.

"Then you are no longer my son."

Cole was outside before he knew what had happened. The door stood open behind him, a window to the only home he'd ever known. His heart ripped out of his chest, abandoned by the only family he had left, he let his heart lead the way. Leaving behind everything he had ever known, everything he had ever loved, he didn't stop as his feet carried him into the dark, sinister trees of the forest. If he had, he might have seen his father sinking to his knees, tears of regret streaming down his crumpled form.

His feet took him down a narrow, sodden road. He slipped only once, covered in mud and soaked through with rain. Tears streamed without restraint, washing away streaks of mud as he ran. It wasn't until he opened his eyes that he realized how far he had gone.

A short, stout stone slab protruded from the ground, wet grass framing it as rain slid down its smooth surface. Five words were etched into it, leering back at him, mocking him:

Lilly - Loving Wife and Mother

Cole sunk to his knees. Tired, muddy, and covered in his own sweat and tears, he wept openly. His chest heaved as his heart broke inside of him, grief pouring over him in crashing waves. His true colors were revealed; here, in the pouring rain, he was finally who he truly was: a little boy crying out for the love of his mother.