Mauja Frosthjärta

His breath pooled in the dark world, counting the moments as he waited; it was the only thing he could do, under the circumstances. Stand. Breathe. Live, for whichever precious seconds he had left. The shape was nothing but a vague outline, the suggestion of equine anatomy. No light, no rays of starlight, fell from the sky to trace the curves of her musculature, or light up the lighter patches of her body; she was simply another shadow in their already shadowed world.

Then, something happened; she exploded in a flash of bright light, the low roar rolling towards him like a wave. When she, a split moment later, re-appeared closer, Mauja wasn't standing exactly where he'd been either. All four feet had taken off the ground in a startled jump, and come down again a foot or so to the side. While his head didn't appreciate it, as it was telling him with a rhythmic pounding, it was the kind of instinct that kept you alive in these troubled times.

At least he knew who it was now. The rumble of magic, the bright flash, the way she moved from one place to the other through that eye-biting light.. she'd left him behind in that fashion, run back to whatever precious dream she'd forgotten on the dark beach, but here she was again, clearly too impatient to simply walk the distance down to him.

His heart was pounding. He might know who it was—or, rather, who it ought to be, but the question of her state of being remained unanswered. Did she come with empty, angry eyes? Slavering jaws? Rotting flesh sloughing off her sides? His ears flickered in the darkness, suddenly aware of another sound, of someone else; already skittish and on his toes, Mauja's head flung to stare at the dark, hulking shape looming closer, and so, the sudden light of Loudmouth's second travel, and the resounding roar marking her arrival, had him jumping once again, nearly sitting down on his haunches in an attempt to get some distance. You know.. just in case.

“….OH,” he exclaimed, and Mauja breathed out in a tension-relieving snort. She looked normal. She sounded normal (brash, that was the word), and smelled normal, and didn't launch herself at his throat with vehemence. His eyes darted to the side again. The black thing was still approaching, too straight a path for Mauja to recognize him, but Loudmouth's open staring and rather blunt question sheared through the dumb haze of surprise, illness and relief. It was, he decided, a rather warranted question, given his state—somewhat bleary-eyed and covered in mostly-healed cuts and gashes. "Uh," was all he got out, and then, "It's good to see you too?" with an arched 'brow, until the dark, approaching thing demanded his attention again. It came out of the darkness like some hulking hell-beast, of a size with Mauja himself but somehow looking thinner, as if he didn't fill out his black skin with bulk—

Tiny. And he, too, had the silver tongue of a bard.

Or not.

"Well," he replied acerbically, "that's why I've got you to watch me, too." He'd deserved Loudmouth's scrutiny; he wasn't sure he'd deserved Tiny's remark. Not that he got to ponder it long, because something else decided to steal the spotlight again. And this, this didn't feel friendly.

It came out of nowhere, morphed into an equine shape, wings spreading from the shoulders and towards the distant, murky horizons; gold filtered through the darkness, touching the ground, reaching for the sky. From his angle, Mauja couldn't see the things face, but it was obvious what it was. Only a few tattered feathers clung to the wing bones, bone, tendon and muscle showing through bleeding, infected wounds. But where the hell had it come from?

Somehow, he found himself looking over his shoulder, ridiculously twisting his entire aching body and flicking his tail to catch sight of the holly branch. It was brown, with its deep green leaves, and a few blood-red berries still clinging to it. There was no blue glow of protection, no shield to chase the nightmares away and stand fast for daylight: his eyes snapped back to the shadow-creature, not daring to trust the branch's truth. What if it had just run out of magic?

But what were they going to do? Drag it back to the caves? It stood facing Loudmouth, clearly intent on her, and Mauja did what he'd done before: waited. Waited, while the cold darkness crept through his veins, and the edges of his vision grew blacker, crystalline ice creeping along every outline and throwing it into stark relief. The cold air bit his lungs, the scents sharper, noises louder; he stood poised to strike, waiting, for the right time.

A million miles from home, I'm frozen to the bones, I am... a soldier on my own, I don't know the way.