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Winter’s wrath was yet to flee Helovia.
Brightly burning eyes were lifted high, lingering on the bleak-grey clouds as they ballooned to smother all glint of fresh blue from the sky. There was no doubting that this Frostfall had been the worst he could remember- and still, there were only a handful of remittent days that he had truly been subject to its violent, bitter fury. All around the air seemed to vibrate as the storm bellowed its wicked intent to the stricken world below, and Hector’s long auburn ears danced fearlessly to its roar. Wind licked the shimmery golden-red tendrils of his mane into a frenzy; wildfire teased to life, as he lifted his chin still higher to test the frosty air with quivering, flaring nostrils.
He had been among those first to leave The Sanctuary; a Spear sent before an exploding, claustrophobic population to make certain the rumours of a weakened darkness were true. Indeed the wraiths numbers dwindled, and without such an army bound by sick, plaguing fog, they were easier to outsmart and evade. When the order had been given, for the army to disperse, Hector had barrelled south upon the beat of massive wings. His loyalty remained true despite the severance of all herd dynamics, and for the length of his underground stay, the tawny tri-bred had ached to return; to stride amongst his peers, brothers in arms, and reconnect with the home he served so devotedly.
He had been disturbed to find only a rubble bridge; fallen terracotta stone, blocks and windblown sand to dress, with sea lashing to either side. With the sound of the impending storm frothing all around, he had dared not venture further without aid- brave yes, but a fool the tawny giant was not, and Hector had turned back towards the heart and the caves (which remained the Throat’s closest neighbour).
The stillness which had engulfed the warm, cindered region was still more eerie than that which had been born by the plaguing darkness. None had stayed any longer than was necessary it seemed, and now what had been the bustling doorway between obliteration and salvation, lay in uncomfortable silence. That was until a call peeled through the whirling wind to find his listening, ever alert ears. Clever eyes began to search the arid landscape for the other whose familiar voice he could not match a face to. She was standing by the entrance to The Sanctuary, lithe body glowing silver as she appeared to dither just beyond reach of those lonely, hungering shadows from below.
Vesta.
She had not been seen through Helovia’s time of darkness, and like many of their kin, had been feared taken by the wraiths. Flooding relief began to spill through his core, hide flinching reactively; breathe rattling through flaccid nostrils, and the soldier strode with fluid grace to meet her. They were no more friends than the burning sun was to ice, but the last (and first) time their paths had crossed she had called herself soldier- they were bound for that reason, in purpose and in arms. The stallion had no reason to believe her a turn coat; or any other who had served the Throat beside them.
The expression was stoic as he neared, and deliberately Hector laid two sloppy steps to scatter stone across the parched clay.
"Vesta!" He called, his voice equally as booming has her own voice, though tinged with subtle tenderness for the sake of their allegiance.
"Soldier, we'd thought you lost." It did not take the tall creature to close the distance between, and he greeted her respectfully, with a swiftly dipping face and a loose fitting smile that rarely found purchase upon his lips. Veci swirled forward also, his invisible breath-like form pausing soon to wait with unusual restrain by the shoulder of his partner.
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