The air is cold.
Darkness sets in quickly at this time of year and for those who never traveled so far north it is unsettling. Between the trunks of barren trees the shadows grow deep and dark, threatening and terrifying. They reach for you, try to hold you back and lead you astray. Before tired eyes they turn to unspeakable horrors, creatures crawling and slithering, intent on catching you, harming you, stopping you in your path. And for someone who is hunted, nothing could be worse than that.
They move swiftly through the sleeping forest, silent as shadows despite the leaves and dry branches that litter the ground. Frozen breath trail behind them, soon dissipating at the touch of a breeze, crisp and chilling - but despite the cold sweat lathers in the folds of their bodies. Steam rises from overheated bodies, dust and grime blur the coats and hide their original colors. They are tired, but cannot stop. With grim determination they push onward, not daring to steal even a fraction of a second look behind. A trinity of shadows, gasping for breath but unable to pause. There's no time to rest. A stallion, two mares; the only ones who are left from a group of ten, and they are only too aware of their losses, what the consequences will be when the pursuers catch up. Because it is beyond doubt now that they won't get away. Chilling winds from the east blow their scent towards the fugitives, taunting them with echoes of pounding hooves and shouts.
One of the mares, shorter and visibly younger than the other, stumbles over a hidden rock and dive toward the ground, too tired to straighten herself up. A broad shoulder manages to stabilize her before she falls, a nudge from another urges her on from behind. A flash of despair shoot through her eyes as she is forced to carry on, even though her strength is long since gone.
"I can't run anymore" she gasps, the words punctuated by yet another stumble. This time her companions aren't quick enough and the lithe frame tumbles to the ground, slamming harshly into it with a hollow thud. A quiet grunt is the only sound she makes, too tired to register the pain that shoots through her body. She is too bruised, too exhausted.
The two skid into swift halts, unsteady on their feat from weariness but still stronger than the young flicka. The stallion comes back, nudging her skinny whithers to make her rise; a paler shadow among shadows, as the grime from weeks on the march just barely covers the pale coloration of his coat. Deep blue eyes gaze at her, trying to comfort even though he knows it is futile;
"You have to, there's no time!"
Even as he speak the sound of pursuit grows stronger, so much that they can count the sets of hoof beats. Two, three, no, more.
"There's a'least six of 'em" the older mare hiss through gritted teeth as she comes trotting back, steely gray eyes focused not on the filly struggling to rise but on the night behind them. "No way we can take tha many even with the Arts, not in this condition." She exchanges a quick glance with the stallion as he steadies the tired girl, a look full of the urgency they all felt. He nods quickly, unhappy but knowing that it's the only thing they can do. It doesn't pass quickly enough however and as the tired little horse notices the change in atmosphere the ears fold back against the neck, disappearing into silken auburn curls.
"No! Not again, please Shiila! Stay with us..." Her voice rings desperately through the night, the glittering stars illuminating the whites of her eyes and the many scars that litter the neck, hollow and thin from lack of nourishment. Shiila spare a moment to look at her, gray eyes affectionate but saddened at the sorry sight before her. So little remained of the young girl, only skin and bones and fear where once there had been a princess, strong and noble and with a smile that would brighten the day for all of them. If only they had been able to rescue her sooner, if only the pursuers had been a bit slower in following after them... But wishes wouldn't get them anywhere, and it wouldn't save the only hope their people had left. It was something only they could do, right here and now...
"Shiila!" the stallion interrupted urgently, making the expression on the mares face harden with determination.
"Take care of her, brother" she orders, reaching out to give the stallion a quick nudge on the neck. The gesture is repeated to the girl, ignoring the tired protests she continues to make. "Dun worry, princess. I'll make sure to buy ye time. T'was nice knowing ya" she smile with fake glibness, then turn the back to them and breaks off, cantering back in the direction they came to intercept the pursuers.
There is no time for goodbyes. No time to mourn the brave woman who will sacrifice her life to buy them a little bit of time. The eyes burn but won't shed any tears as the little lady is forced to continue, to once more stretch the aching legs out and run. If only she could cry. Perhaps the face would change then, turn from the numb mask of fake strength into something else; anything must be better than the indifferent look she wears now. Sounds change behind them. The drumming of galloping hooves turn to shouts, screams, rumbling and crackling as the forces of nature is set loose. Lightning, fire, the creaking of timber too stiff to be moved properly. The ears slick even tighter against the poll, as if trying to shut the horrible sounds away.
"She won't go down easily" the stallion mutters as they run, shoulder to flank; she wonders if he tried to console himself or her. He drives her on, rushing through thickets and across glens, over fallen trees and through streams of crystal clear waters that burn the skin with its cold. The sounds behind them fade with the added distance and for a moment it becomes quiet, blessedly still. Did they shake them? Did Shiila manage the impossible and take them all out?
Side by side they burst out into a large clearing, and with a gasp the princess breaks into a halt, skidding across slimy half frozen leaves. She hear the blue-eyed stallion curse and find herself behind him, shoved back by a swift movement that makes her stumble. From beneath the tangled mess of the forelock the girl stare at the figures that emerge from the shadows before them. Three large horses with horns sprouting from their heads, clad in light armor with the mark of a snake biting its tail shimmering white and horrible in the faint light of the stars. It almost seems to be moving and with a grimace the mare roll the right shoulder, remembering the sickening scent of scorched flesh as the same mark had been branded into her shoulder.
"How did they get ahead of us..." she whispered, not expecting anyone to answer.
"This is as far as you get" a course voice declare across the clearing, the words hard and rough as gravel. "Return the girl, traitor, and we'll make your death swift and painless."
The stallion snorts sharply and bare the ivories against the soldiers, defiance radiating from him like a light. The girls gaze move worriedly between them, unable to do anything to help. Untrained in the art of combat, unable still to awaken the power that slumbers within the blood, and too tired to do anything but stand and stare.
"Tiimar.." she pleads, not even knowing what it is she want him to do. Sprout wings and fly them away from there? If he'd been able to do that he would have done so already, before any of their comrades had been killed.
A faint smile passes over his lips, but he has no words to offer in consolation. They have come to the end of the line now, and there is nothing more he can do but to fight. Fight and hope for a miracle, even though none has come their way thus far.
"Little Rilo" he murmurs quietly, gentle words meant only for her ears. Her throat clenches, knowing what will come. Don't want to hear it, don't want it to be true, don't want to believe him... "I wish it could have ended differently. We've come a long way from home, but further still you must go. Turn south from here, and run until you can't run anymore. We'll be with you, all of us... so don't look back."
Suddenly he moved, lunged forward through the air towards the soldiers. With shrill cries they met him, horns lowered and necks swelling. Rilo screamed in horror as she saw how wide gashes opened up along his sides, watched him kick and rear, dance around the glen with blood running down the barrel. From nowhere came gusts of wind as Tiimar made use of the Art, sharp and cutting gales swirling around the opponents, digging deep into unicorn flesh and repaying every hit with three in return.
She couldn't move. Frozen in place the princess watched as her comrade fought for her, unable to do anything to help. She felt helpless, powerless, and hated herself for it. Anger roiled within and made her shiver, more and more for each gash in her friends hide, every bite, every kick that landed. Her heart bled for him but the anger shielded it, spared her the need to feel. Anger was what forced her feet to move, anger towards the horned ones who robbed her of family and friends, health and home and sanity. A gasp escaped her as she turned around, part hiss part sob.
It was with dry cheeks she began to run, each step carrying her away from the glen-turned-battlefield and the one who had been her support through the entire arduous journey. The face was motionless, the seeing eye dull. But in her heart she wept, silent tears for the one she had to leave behind.
Rilosanne Ka'Adina
Silent whispers, Silent tears
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