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Why had Yol come to explore such a disgusting, filthy, and scary place? He shivered, beating his dark wings nervously, circling lower to the frosted ground. Snow kissed the trails, wrapping ice fingers around the delicate grasses, plucking leaves from the barren, dead trees. It was a desolate, lifeless place full of... well, death. Another sharp bank pulled Yol towards one of the larger paths, where the yearling alighted with ease. Landing had always been the easiest part for his great bulk. Take-off was another matter.
The grasses crunched beneath hooves, and the dark gray dapple wove through the trails, relaxed and mostly remaining oblivious to anything. To the pale faces of the dead in the pond. To Leander and Valhalla flapping around.
It wasn't till he had nearly stepped on them that his minds had been jerked back into the present. "What-" Yol's voice died as his eyes made quick work of the scene. "I'm a medic." He lowered his head, sniffing the mare. No need to heal her- some warmth would do, and if they were to help her not freeze, all would be well. "You'll be alright. Just need to keep you warm." The stallion glanced at the stallion. He smelled strongly of the Dragon's Throat, so the yearling instantly relaxed. The stallion extended a dark gray wing, and wrapped it firmly around the mare's body, his huge flank nearly brushing hers.
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