She could hear their cowardly voices rising and falling in the distance, ringing with malicious laughter and tangled with snarls. More than anything, she could not not stand a coward. Back stabbers, liars, thieves, and dare she even think it--murderers, she could deal with. They were her people after all—she would not pretend to be better than the lowliest of the low. But cowards? Just thinking the word left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Better to die a thousand deaths than to live an entire lifetime as a coward.
Though he had very few traits worth admiring, her father had been the same way. In fact, he had been the bravest man she had ever known. The thought made her throat ache painfully, but gave her a mild sense of courage at the same time, and she straightened resolutely and strode through the swirling fog and mist, her expression dark with some unreadable emotion. She hesitated as her pearl hooves sifted through something soft and cool, and a sweet scent uncurled like a blooming rose in her nostrils. The smell of wildflowers engulfed her, and yet, there were none to be seen. Sweet memories untangled in her mind, slow and sunlit and soft. The mist seemed to have faded, and her eyes settled on the rolling motions of the small meadow. A sea of sweet grass on the very top of the world. Who would have known?
A snarl snapped her out of her misty-eyed daydream, demanding her presence and angered for being kept waiting. A slight smirk pulled at her lips, but it was very subtle. It seemed the wolf and she shared something in common—hideous impatience. She'd taken a rather long detour, unraveling his silly riddle and so she was glad he was seething at her tardiness. Yseulte was a very straightforward unicorn who preferred charging head on into the unknown, rather than sit uselessly for hours dissecting perilous messages scratched in the snow.
Which is exactly what she had done, of course.
Once in the open, she stopped. A wolf was dangling her cub over the edge of the mountain, but even then in its moment of life or death, she could see it was a fighter, slashing, clawing, and snarling at the wolf's muzzle and chest.
Something along the lines of pride swelled in her chest.
"I am here," she said coldly, her voice so quiet it might have been a whisper from a passing winter wind. She did not mention that she was alone; he could see that for himself. Her proud, cold face was oddly expressionless as those sharp eyes followed the pacing movements of the alpha. She did not waste her breath making foolish demands that he put the cub down safely—she could only hope that he was a wolf who honored his word. And then quite suddenly, she smiled at the wolf, as if she were greeting an old friend.
"Let's dance, you and I."
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[RE] the mountain smoked beneath the moon, questing
