Striking mights and maybes even more

A useless thing called life

It's a biting cold again

He hadn't stayed to watch. He had melted into the forest after announcing their defeat, taking those who still stood and wished to come. Not forgetting the others, no - he'd come for them. He'd bring them. He'd not let the dragonwhore keep them for long, should she wish to have his herd on a leash, like pets.

Oh no.
Mauja would come for them - bronzed Ulrik, faithful Delinne, the bull Lloyd... Idly he wondered who would choose to stay. To walk with mixbloods and hornless, defile themselves and become void - null. Mauja would snap the horns from their foreheads and dance on their graves.

A snarl had etched itself onto the features of his face, a contorted mask of pain and frustrated anger. So easy to blame himself. So easy to blame everyone else. Tight-lipped with silence, he crept forth east, each step making the charred skin on his hindquarters stretch uncomfortably. The fire hadn't eaten that deep but had severely dehydrated what remained, the crisp edges of skin and flesh losing its elasticity. Moving hurt like a bitch. But he had to keep going.

The sun was rising, cold and bleak in the cloudless Frostfall morning. A thin blanket of snow swirled around his frosted, muddy hooves, a little blood mingling with the mess down his cannons. The thin slash hadn't bled much, not really, but his constant movement had kept it from congealing. It looked worse than it was.

Just a little further. Damnable exodus.

He hugged the cliff, the mountain range being low here. Slipped round its bend, and the isthmus stretched out before him. Dark and quiet lay the sea, the wind calm; to the west, the sky was still colored navy, dotted with stars. Mauja heaved a shuddering sigh, and skidded to a halt. Snow pooled around his hooves. The world was quiet, as it always was when it was a winter dawn. Shafts of sunlight arced above the horizon, making themselves known in the last few minutes, the sky lighting to cold blue and pale pastel. Here was as good a place as any. He wasn't sure he could go further without losing his mind. He stopped, spun around to face his ragtag army.

Homeless. Wretched. What could he say to them?

"The Edge!" he cried, seeking to gather them close. "No matter these impostors who move in the depths of our forest, we are still the Edge." His voice was hoarse, his eyes tired, but he had to do this. Keep talking. Had Monster made it out? Blinking, he scanned his followers for the black pet. "We have to recover. Regenerate. But once we are strong again..." His gaze narrowed.

"We will show Helovia that if you play with fire, you get burned."