He slaloms to the right, as intended, and in the bushes a pair of livid blue eyes gleam like murderous sapphires in the starlight. Prey nears. Nyx's hooves ram hard into the slippery ground, searching for purchase as she arrests her momentum; she, too, stumbles slightly, but it matters not because her plan is working.

Then he's talking, and his voice is like wine laden with poison, ice tinted with fire. Her ears are invisible, plastered against her skull like slathered turrets of steel, and her storm-eyes roll in her head; his voice is the voice of the intruder she sees him as, the beast that's invaded her home and will take a knife to the backs of her sleeping comrades if she doesn't stop him. She's landed one blow, now she needs to press her advantage, to break him.

But he breaks her first.

There's pain - sudden, blinding agony that rips a shriek from her windpipe. White-hot ice tears through her veins, leaving only devastation in its wake. Needles, razor-blades; she forgets everything, only the beasts eating her from the inside out. One errant, flailing hoof smashes into a hidden patch of ice - or is it blood? Is she bleeding? - and she's down, her forelegs bending and crashing into the ground. She skins her knees, and only a display of herculean effort, of storm-hardened steel, prevents her falling fully. She staggers back to all fours, still alive with electric pain, still a hulking ball of oblivion. Make it end. By Cinnoru's horn, let it end. Ice touches her heart and she gasps, breath catching in her throat, muscles spasming, contracting, slowly suffocating her...

There's a savage roar, and she slips from her body and into Dominus'. They are as close as two minds can be, and this trauma pushes the grey's consciousness away from the burning sack of meat that is her skin, into the warm, waiting embrace of her lion. She sees through sharp predator's eyes, she feels the ground beneath padded paws as they lunge from the undergrowth. They care nothing about hiding and ambushing, not now they can see grey-fur-mind-partner standing stock still, bloodied legs braced, twitching slightly. They can see the pain etched into every contour of her face, her neck arched like a lover's spine, her horn pointed like a javelin at the ground. They see her knees crying crimson tears, and they see her eyes rolled back into her head, only the whites visible. They feel her pain, too, but it's faint, muffled, like shouting against snow. But even though the agony is only second-hand, they know that they need to break the stallion's spell over her, or die trying - because there's no guarantee the ice shards will melt before they destroy her. She's immobilized, but they are a beast unleashed.

They aim for the spotted-bad-man's right hindleg, lips peeled from slavering fangs and eyes glowing with menace. They bunch their thick rear muscles and lunge forwards and up, aiming to bite hard into the meat of Mauja's right hindleg just above the hock, approaching from the side in the hope of avoiding hard-ice-hooves. They lift their white forepaws, their claws erupting from dew-tinted sheaths. They aim to wrap their arms around the same spotted-back-leg, and they attempt to dig their talons hard into the tender flesh on the inside of the limb. They hope to draw blood by every means possible, to try and distract bad-spots-wicked-mind and make him release silver-soul-partner from his frozen grip; only their back paws remain on the ground, anchoring their balance. Their tail swings behind, like a rudder, a fifth limb to steer and support them. They have a predator's rage and a companion's fierce protectiveness; they are hunters, not prey. He is an intruder, and they are the sentinels that guard the Edge. They will end him; they will do their duty.

His eyes have wings? Theirs have teeth.

___________

@[Mauja]

Is it wrong that giving unimaginable agony to Nyx is a huge muse-booster? >.>

2/3 - 725 words