She couldn’t’ die here. Not now, and not ever. My mind wouldn’t have the strength to let this one go, not when we had lost so many good friends already. They had ended up sprawled out across the sand, with nobody but their rotten shadows for company. It was how my dark skinned mentor had passed into the netherworld. Alone. Unforgotten by his friends, family, but very painfully alone.

I breathed out a heavy breath across her quivering flesh, she said my name and instantly my cranium fell toward her head. My name. Eyes searched for signs that would help calm a frantic heart, give me some hope that there was enough life in those darkened pools to keep her frame firmly tethered to earth. One ebony lid had drifted open, partly. I stiffened and hooked my neck across hers, feeling the muscles beneath our skin brush into the sweet smelling musk. The Sleuth spoke again, going on to describe how she had been attacked.

There really wasn’t time to feel anger right now….but that didn’t stop it from pooling alive in my breast as each drop of her blood was sucked up by the greedy sand. My mouth worked close until all ivories were ground down. It then dawned on me that she had mentioned a broken wing. I shifted my bloodstained feathers aside to see where the damage had been done; the color of my pristine feathers was making me feel sick.

Seconds later she started thrashing about, screeching to the night sky. Apparently I’d not been as prepared as previously thought, I started and jerked back a little. For a moment there was nothing to be done other than lay back, in an unsure shock of confusion. Should I stop her painful attempts, or let it pass? When the horrible stench of blood got stronger after each feeble kick; the decision was made for me.

The surprised stupor was cast aside. Golden sand rose from the ground to gently slide across each slender point of her black legs. Pure gold bloomed from the center and spread outward, hardening the rings into crude chains that were tethered to the drenched soil.

My wing had already risen from her barrel because I hadn’t wanted to hurt Shadow more than necessary by having a weight across her injured wing. It was very tempting to draw the lass closer and forcefully embrace her till the motions stopped. But to do so my appendage would be crushing the arches of Shadows wing—the pain might be too much to handle.

With strained concentration I pushed the golden chains down using a firm, but unforgiving pressure, “Please Shadow, forgive me,” I spoke aloud. Another push followed and my face contours into a mask of rigid pain as she struggles to escape some unseen enemy. This was likely hurting her, or scaring her. Or both; but there was nothing else to be done, and as much as I hated hurting her, this was painfully necessary. “Ye has to stop!” It was a lucky thing that I had moved the foal, her spine thrashed against my side, bending awkwardly. The warmth shared between us escaped into the night. Anger reared its ugly head, staring at me blissfully—eager to be set free.

I wasn’t angry with my Sleuth; fury was bubbling because of desperation, and the fact that I was powerless to stop her from leaving me. Another person I cared about would die tonight, and there wasn’t a damn thing to be done about it.

“Please,” I begged, to Shadow, to the gods, to anyone who might be listening. My shoulder pressed against her withers, trying to find leverage that would aid me in holding her neck still while mine draped across. “Ye can’t leave me here…not like they did. Not now! Please stop.” Words are bordering the line of frantic, and to my ears they sounded more like the pleadings of a frightened boy.

Another presence came upon us. A male, not of Throat origin, a foreign one with… a horn. A freaking horn! I saw him through my peripheral vision. His stench was as strong as blood, stronger even in a mind that was so freshly acute to their traitorous actions. Basin scum. How in the bloody hell did a basin unicorn make it past our defenses? My lips curl back into a snarl, I shift concentration, half to keep Shadow from killing herself and half toward this strange unicorn who dared approach us. Sand pools up behind him, forming the shape of six sharpened daggers—each pointing to a fragile piece of flesh.

He was crying, and in state of normal consciousness, on a bright sunny morn I might have cared to ask why. Right now there was nothing but ice flooding my veins, coldly I spoke up, “Ease away from her. Ye doesn’t have permission to be upon this soil. Leave now, or stand aside, I care not. BUT STAY AWAY FROM HER!” The daggers are now pointed toward his heart, one word and they fly free. Unrestrained. If he has sense enough to understand—the brute would turn around and walk away. Wing tightened protectively around the fragile babe.