R I C O C H E T - - raise your GUN and it's over

Long nights and cold days the boy and his dog had spent wandering the backsides of nameless countries. Madness fed the heedless travel of the dun, stirring his hooves into such a frenzy they chipped away until he could barely stand on bleeding soles. The dog fared no better, pads cracking and claws shrinking to stubs as all manner of terrain was eaten by the distance they put between Isilme and themselves. The collie, barely older than a pup at the time, and still, had briefly considered abandoning the pale maniac who's pelt tasted of dirt and smelled of gunpowder. Some inner sense of loyalty kept the dog steadfast however, teaching it not to abandon, but to endure.

When all the angry and the bitter had spun from the colt in sweat, blood and explosives, he turned instead to an aimless walk of shame, burning with fever and delirium. He often muttered into the night and hung under the shade of trees in the day, suddenly seeming afoul of sunlight. The dog at first did little more than whine and whimper, accustomed to being the child that was provided for. Guns soon learned that his voice went unheard by the lost boy and each rise of the moon showed the slimming of their bodies and the withering of their minds. Ricochet seemed not to mind, but the dog growled and barked and bit at the shadows that encased them. Splintered pads bled over dirt and rock as the collie chased game, learning with every failure and growing with every success. At first he hoarded his catches, resenting the dun boy that chased his tail every dawn, but with starvation quelled and loyalty churning in his full gut, Guns began to drag his catches back to the child. Ricochet refused whenever he noticed, often laughing a cruel, maddening laugh at the dog. Feathered tail would waver and tuck, confusion lowering the amber gaze of the collie.

He turned this gaze outward, watching the deer and the passing hoofstock. They always bent to eat the grass and ran from the wolves that howled and nipped from the shrubs. Guns could not understand then why Ricochet refused to eat the grass he trod into mush every day - if he didn't need to catch it, why was he wasting it?

That night of realization the dog laid down beside the panting horse and began to lick the insanity from him. There was a sickness within Ricochet that manifested within the heart and from there it settled in the mind and devoured the body. Guns could not revisit the past, could not change the events that had brought them here and could not return what Ricochet had lost, but he could remind the buttermilk to fight for what remained of their future. So it was that with dog curled around him, fuzzy body providing warmth in a nest of snow, Ricochet began to mend.

Anger had moved to shame. Shame now moved to acceptance. A newfound quiet filled Ricochet, one he had not known since the nights when he would lay with Misery, the nights before Gunslinger came from the beach and would pick him up only to throw him back down. Teal eyes blinked back at the world that had seemed forged in a haze and now stung with such clarity he could hardly bare it. Though the body still ached, worn by his abuse and open wounds still scarring from the dragonfire, Ricochet and Guns rose to a dawn and began to travel once more. They wandered now with an easy pace and nearly playful hearts.

As the seasons wore on they came to Helovia, just as spring gave bloom to its last flowers. Guns wondered if the dun knew he had begun to loop back to his previous home. If he did, he never mentioned it, though there was a stiffening in his gait and a distance in his eyes that suggested the boy knew what lay further east. The collie feigned ignorance, keeping his nose close to the violet thistles they waltzed over, intent on finding prey that this lush region boasted of. Ricochet hung back, head dunking into the stream to drink his fill and roughly swirl the water. Its cool embrace was like a balm over the white scars that littered his face. Though the flesh had since healed, it often throbbed and burned as if the dragon returned nightly to burn him anew.