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08-26-2013, 08:16 PM
She was answered. Not by any divine means, no. But the muffled calls of distress from someone needing help. Ears swiveled to catch the sound, difficult to pinpoint until she caught the beat of rushing hooves. Already Zaffre was racing ahead of her, letting out a shrill chirrup to acknowledge the call and alert his own approach, leaving Smoke to limp after in a lop-sided trot that left her wincing every other step.
It was the blue who was there first, shooting a brief image back along to bond to pinpoint the destination for the grulla mare, a fleeting image of an open space with a hauntingly familiar figure standing in the middle of it. A figure with a huddled lump of white at its feet. It was to that limp form that Zaffre flew, crooning anxiously to his fellow dragon and essentially ignoring the stallion who shared her soul.
Barraged by the anxious cries, both physical and mental, from two males she cared for, Smoke hustled as best she could. Her voice rose in a ringing whinny, assuring her old friend that she was on her way. That she'd heard them, that she was close. That she would help.
"Lace!" The Wild Rose burst into the tiny clearing, coming to a ragged halt as she favored her left fore that was slowly oozing blood again, the wound reopened by her rush to get there. Her dark gaze found the silver grullo, then swung toward the fragile figure of his white, stained with blood and too, too still. Zaffre huddled over her, the blue tint of his nearly-white underside made noticeable in contrast to the stark paleness of his female counterpart. Two-toned muzzle sought out each puncture mark from a canine's bite, and a pale breast vibrated with a steady croon.
"Unconscious, not dead. Hope for her yet, so long as Zaffre does not start the death keen." While her voice was calm and assured, inside Smoke was anything but. A wild terror had risen in her, a panic-striken memory of another grullo stallion and the broken body of a dragon. But this was not Clip lying broken beyond repair, this was not Gunslinger, broken within by his dragon's loss. This was Lace, and this was Fajira, and by the Gods, Smoke would not let that happen again to someone she cared about!
A few authoritative strides, marred by the limp that caught at her again and again, and Smoke stood over the two dragons. "Be strong for her, Lace. She needs to know it will be okay when I pull her from the darkness." And then she was calling on a different sort of darkness, something purer and sweeter than oblivion or the deepest night. A darkness wound up with the essence of air, reminiscent of both a summer breeze and the raging of a winter's storm. "Please, Lady Moon, don't withdraw your favor now..." It was a whisper, just under her breath, a hope that whatever may happen in the tail end of the invasion, she could pull this one life away from the teetering edge of death.
The magic answered, surging up at her beckoning, winding through the intervening space between her muzzle and Fajira, pushed forward on an exhaled breath. A tendril of that wispy darkness danced over the white's body, lingering over each bloody mark on what had been a pristine hide. Inward, Smoke guided it, probing deep into each wound and seeking the damage caused. Muscles knit, blood vessels reconnected, internal organ gently guided back to where they should be, their hurts reversed. For what seemed an eternity she worked, body utterly motionless as every fiber in her being focused on helping this small dragon heal.
Breathe. A strong suggestion backed by the pressure of wind, coaxing lungs to expand with air, then contract. A magical reminder to the heart to beat, encouraging it to regain its normal rhythms. "Come back to us, Fajira. Lace needs you." Dark muzzle touched a crumpled pale wing, wrapping fragile bones in darkness, only to coax them back to where they needed to be.
Soft humming vibrated out of Zaffre from where he lay coiled around the outer edges of Fajira's body, the sound cloyingly familiar to the sound of a dragon encouraging a hatchling to fight for freedom. It made Smoke smile, knowing that the blue was doing everything in his power to encourage his flock-mate to come back amongst the conscious, the living.
It was the blue who was there first, shooting a brief image back along to bond to pinpoint the destination for the grulla mare, a fleeting image of an open space with a hauntingly familiar figure standing in the middle of it. A figure with a huddled lump of white at its feet. It was to that limp form that Zaffre flew, crooning anxiously to his fellow dragon and essentially ignoring the stallion who shared her soul.
Barraged by the anxious cries, both physical and mental, from two males she cared for, Smoke hustled as best she could. Her voice rose in a ringing whinny, assuring her old friend that she was on her way. That she'd heard them, that she was close. That she would help.
"Lace!" The Wild Rose burst into the tiny clearing, coming to a ragged halt as she favored her left fore that was slowly oozing blood again, the wound reopened by her rush to get there. Her dark gaze found the silver grullo, then swung toward the fragile figure of his white, stained with blood and too, too still. Zaffre huddled over her, the blue tint of his nearly-white underside made noticeable in contrast to the stark paleness of his female counterpart. Two-toned muzzle sought out each puncture mark from a canine's bite, and a pale breast vibrated with a steady croon.
"Unconscious, not dead. Hope for her yet, so long as Zaffre does not start the death keen." While her voice was calm and assured, inside Smoke was anything but. A wild terror had risen in her, a panic-striken memory of another grullo stallion and the broken body of a dragon. But this was not Clip lying broken beyond repair, this was not Gunslinger, broken within by his dragon's loss. This was Lace, and this was Fajira, and by the Gods, Smoke would not let that happen again to someone she cared about!
A few authoritative strides, marred by the limp that caught at her again and again, and Smoke stood over the two dragons. "Be strong for her, Lace. She needs to know it will be okay when I pull her from the darkness." And then she was calling on a different sort of darkness, something purer and sweeter than oblivion or the deepest night. A darkness wound up with the essence of air, reminiscent of both a summer breeze and the raging of a winter's storm. "Please, Lady Moon, don't withdraw your favor now..." It was a whisper, just under her breath, a hope that whatever may happen in the tail end of the invasion, she could pull this one life away from the teetering edge of death.
The magic answered, surging up at her beckoning, winding through the intervening space between her muzzle and Fajira, pushed forward on an exhaled breath. A tendril of that wispy darkness danced over the white's body, lingering over each bloody mark on what had been a pristine hide. Inward, Smoke guided it, probing deep into each wound and seeking the damage caused. Muscles knit, blood vessels reconnected, internal organ gently guided back to where they should be, their hurts reversed. For what seemed an eternity she worked, body utterly motionless as every fiber in her being focused on helping this small dragon heal.
Breathe. A strong suggestion backed by the pressure of wind, coaxing lungs to expand with air, then contract. A magical reminder to the heart to beat, encouraging it to regain its normal rhythms. "Come back to us, Fajira. Lace needs you." Dark muzzle touched a crumpled pale wing, wrapping fragile bones in darkness, only to coax them back to where they needed to be.
Soft humming vibrated out of Zaffre from where he lay coiled around the outer edges of Fajira's body, the sound cloyingly familiar to the sound of a dragon encouraging a hatchling to fight for freedom. It made Smoke smile, knowing that the blue was doing everything in his power to encourage his flock-mate to come back amongst the conscious, the living.
