Quilyan

The world is quiet, and he flies.

He flies through the darkness, far above the craggy recesses that hide the world's monsters, though he fears that they can reach him even here, far above the surface of the earth; besides, everything he cares about lies below, under the threat of the creeping, seeping darkness. If he could fight it all off, he would - of course he would, but he cannot. He is not a warrior - he hasn't the discipline or the training to excel in that field. No, he has taken to the skies as a lookout, a scout of sorts. He is well-versed in the art of flirtation and persuasion, having traded in secrets for much of his young life, and though this task is not nearly the same, it requires a similar shifty turn of mind. This game requires him to stay one step ahead, but unlike the games of his childhood - indeed, unlike the games of his adulthood - failure means the death of those he holds dear.

Zarina clings to his banner, her fur standing on end. He feels her fear through the bond, and though she is but a miniature monkey, she longs to find the bad thing and kill it, if only so she can get her beauty rest again. He tries to soothe her, but her discontent is catching, and he finds that his words of comfort are empty. If she were not connected to his mind, he might be able to persuade her to calm, but she knows that he lies when he tells her she is safe. The truth is, he doesn't know if any of them are, and it makes him uneasy. He wishes once more for a clear enemy, for even he who avoids outright battle would prefer that to this. Below, the little herd is led by his little mare, and though his heart swells with pride in how far she has come, he is afraid. Is he close enough to protect her if something jumps from the shadows? Is he far enough to keep a lookout?

Finally, at long last, they reach a cavernous opening that seems to be providing shelter for many Helovians. The prince is not pleased, having visited this cave not long before and encountering a monster that had sucked the happiness from their very minds. But I won, he thinks, forcing himself to think brave thoughts. It does not make him feel any better. As the last of their caravan picks their way into the cave, he folds his wing and falls, carefully navigating through the opening of the cave and finding a place to land. He picks his way over to their group, silent as a shadow, and comes to rest beside Resplendence, who seems to have managed to hold onto at least a shred of sanity despite her obvious terror. If anyone else has spoken, he has arrived too late to catch their words; he offers his own to his princess, leaning to brush his muzzle against her forehead, as if to remind himself that she is, in fact, real.

"We're safe here," he tells her, but even he can hear the doubt.

"Talk talk talk."