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As much as one could dislike living in a cave when that someone was born for heaven—the damp darkness was preferable to the evil which lay outside and current bitter cold. The stranger I’d been traveling with was out of breath, but feeling well enough to return my smile and even answer. To which I replied with a growing beam and a hardy, “Yar, tis considerably warmer…” he moved to say something else as Fina alters her flight into the cave, eager to settle in and eat her hard earned prize.
A voice called out to me through the cold wind. Nay, not just any voice, my mind clicked into action and crown swung round. I knew the owner of that voice, and the memories it held. Senses slipped a notch back, catching the faint tones of my golden hooved friend. For a moment all I could do was simply stare at that beast of snow and ice, his shimmering horn and even eyes not just a figment of imagination. Unlike my company that had traveled near on the winds, my wings remained tightly coiled; unwilling to simply unfurl and release precious heat for every person that happened to know my title. But he was correct in being wary, a soldiers instinct.
This creature had avoided capture, got away with murder and was seemingly embraced by some dark entity that hosted it. He had escaped through the ocean, nay, into the ocean. Perhaps the first glance wasn’t enough, I knew little to nothing of the story that lead me and Guacho toward what we believed was justice. There was a small piece of me, that childish piece, that felt betrayed by his display of cowardice; I’d expected so much more from someone that was in all fairness a person I’d come to respect.
“Both.” I whispered finally, meant for his ears alone and his own conclusions. To some, this man was a traitor and a murderer. I had no obligation for either titles, such sins hadn’t been against me or my family to the best of such knowledge—and didn’t we all commit treachery? Either in subtle forms or in visible ones.
I scented the air, trying to pick up faint whiffs of sickness that would come in the form of rotting meat, or sticky sweet acid that spewed pus. Neither could be traced in the breeze that was blowing, “Is ye infected? If not step forward as a friend to us, ye will find no war with me.” He could either die out in the wilderness or accept my forgiveness (whatever it’s worth) in the form of acceptance that very few actually showed with a whole heart. Another figure pushed out from behind him, a stranger to me and hornless.
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