oh, sweet thing! zion doesn't love you!
and babylon don't love you!

“No! No, hey! Stop!”
 
As Ultima closed in, the girl – and it was a girl, pale as ice, and a familiar one, too – wobbled to her feet and shuddering, took off into the sky. She was an Edger, Ultima was positive; she remembered the distinctive coat and the spiraling horns from that dreadful meeting, and from the horror of the brambles. And her name? What was her name? “You! Girl! Girl!” No matter, no matter: the smell of blood filled her nostrils in the filly’s wake, distinctive in its tang, and without thinking Ultima leaned back, sucked in a breath – and launched after her. She couldn’t tell from here, but whatever the extent of the damage, it was a long flight to the Edge, even for a healthy horse. It may have been bearable now, but the strain of the trip— Ultima cut her companion off before he could protest. 

“I can’t leave her!”
 
So they climbed into the sky. The filly sagged as she went, and Ultima held her heart firmly in her mouth, waiting for the fateful moment when the muscles gave out, when the girl plummeted through the clouds. It was no use wondering what Tilney would do then; his apprentice was alone in a situation her teacher himself had no experience with, and the pressure to perform, to show what she had learned and what she had left for— But no matter, no matter, time for that later, later, later. The peaks of those old Edge trees had begun to form through the autumn mist. Taking a deep breath, exhaling slowly through grit teeth, the Medic gathered her wits, her prayers, and followed her charge’s descent.
 
Little grass roots. The roots of the trees, tugged into the moonlight. Ultima sent her magic out first, crashing beside the girl half out of wear and half with anxiety, eyes crushed tightly shut against any and all distraction. The seconds passing as the healing did its work was more real to her than her own body; one; then another; then another; and when her eyes finally opened, she half-expected to wake from a terrible dream. But there was the child, bloodied, tear-stained, wreathed in fog and vine.
 
And there, behind her? Ultima glanced at him for a long moment, but she said nothing, not even his name. When at last she spoke, her eyes turned decisively to their patient.
 
“Stay awake,” she said softly, girl to girl, angel to angel. The clear bells of her voice were muffled by exhaustion, but she persisted, leaning close. “Just a little longer. Listen to my voice. It’ll be alright.” 

“I promise.”