Ruske;;

      I could not content myself with the forest.


      It was no mirror of the time before. My Woodlands were dark and deep, home to rot and fungus, safe from the sun if I wished them to be. I had known those trees well; I had welcomed all their skeletons (save one). Perhaps that was the reason the Edge left a lingering itch deep in the fabric of my skin: it was half memory, half mirage. And the memory no longer tasted very sweet.


      On light hooves, I traveled south. I had many reasons to move, all separate from the pervasive trickle of fear into my brain. Helovia, ripe with potential, spread out all around me. New, uncharted territory – who knew what lay within? I studied the thinning trees as I moved, but they appeared to my senses as any other flora. I suffered little disappointment; use of my senses at all should be enjoyed as a success. Mere days before, I had crawled feebly from Death’s embrace, my flight waning, my time limited. Only by the graces of a stranger had I been restored; only by her grace did I move, a shambles of my former self, with any sense at all. Gratitude not soon forgotten thrummed in my chest; I set it aside. The particular hunger gnawing at my brain held no softer disposition in the face of courtesy. I must move away; wrecked, skeletal, I could but wander.


      Another hunger rumbled in my gut. It coincided with the scent of other creatures – equine. Interest and the underlying smell of grass drew me further. Other scents twisted on the cool air, creatures I failed to recognize. I thought of dragons, and my pace quickened.


      The meadow blossomed dull and spacious before me, grass browned with the passage of seasons – browned, but present. Rarely a man with time enough for eating, I nonetheless recognized the need for such a task, at present. I might, at the very least, do so in a new locale, where knowledge may be gleaned. I stalked from the trees like a wraith, my eyes twisting from one shadow to the next, all hungry. My own corner of the field seemed empty; I moved onward by degrees, snatching bites as I went. Some primal desire in the core of me died down, sated by the necessity of grazing (how I missed the Woodlands).


      Briefly, I thought of a dream long extinguished: a dream of any food, green and fresh, in the heart of the coldest months. An old dream, it had cost me more than I expected, at the time. I tucked it carefully away.


      I could no longer feign indifference. I feared the specter on my heels.


      For the time being, I considered myself defanged. I had become old and thin, my winter coat hanging in thick tufts over a frame of shoddy bone. Resplendence had given me strength enough, for a few days at least, but I required my own nourishment if I meant to survive. I could aspire to little in my present state. Thus, I contented my hungry mind with watching – watching everything. I recorded the scents of the day, the curious ineffective glare of the sun. I wish I could say I did appreciate the world more, so recovered, but it seemed little improved.


      A part of me continued to miss the old things – the fanged things – I had left behind.

Ruske;;

      Movement originated somewhere in periphery: pale grey on tawny grass. Were she still, I may have mistaken her for little more than another drift of rotting snow. She was, however, decidedly not; the mare first came into my vision at a walk, her attention clearly focused elsewhere. I cocked one ear in her direction but continued grazing. She was quite small, dainty in the way of fragile things, and beautiful despite sharing her color with the filthy remnants of old precipitation. Still, she was only an equine – old news. I spied no dragon trailing after her; my interest wavered, caught between food and companionship. Should I even wish for her attention? She hardly appeared a soldier, but soldiers were not the only ones to provoke an old man’s ire.

      I remained silent for a time, watching as she bent to drink. Still, her attention remained elsewhere. I began to feel uneasy, as if I were spying, though I had not asked her to approach; I had not requested any company at all, though I had placed myself in a position to receive it, should it happen to arrive. I ought to speak, at least. I was no craven lunatic, no matter the ugly state of my form. Decisive then I lifted my head, mouth opening to greet the little mare. Perhaps the movement caught her eye; in a moment our eyes met. Then she moved (oh, foolish thing) and disappeared.

      The sudden violence of her fall shook somewhere between my ribs; my heart clenched, then wildly began to beat. I searched the meadow, desperate for any sign of aid. Would I be forced to pull her out? Stupid creature, prancing about oblivious… but she thrashed bravely enough on her own, and at last emerged on land, cold water streaming from her sides. I could manage little more than a white-eyed stare; within moments fate had forced me from curiosity to panic to mere confusion. Still gripped with discomfort, my heart continued to flap in its ineffectual way, and breath heaved through my chest as if I had fallen in. The wind rasped in my throat, hard evidence of some lingering damage, and with a brittle shake of my head, I failed to suppress a cough.

      ”You owe me warmth.” She spoke. My ears snapped up, better to catch the voice, but it carried in such dull, imperious tones across the air I wished only to scowl. I had no part in her foolishness; if a mare grown could not manage to survive a peaceful meeting with a half-dead stranger, how was I to blame? Certainly my decision to hold silence for a moment too long had no bearing on my guilt – did it? I could not walk through life avoiding the potential disasters of others. No; ridiculous.

      But I had long devoted my life to helping others, once they had made their mistakes.

      ”You’d might as well appeal to the river,” I answered, with a brusque flick of my tail, ”to take its business elsewhere. Surely it has offended more than I?” My ears fell back as I spoke; a definite frown creased the skin of my mouth. Though far from angry, I had little intention of allowing this girl to dictate my actions. Having established that fact, I stepped toward her. From a distance I studied her drenched skin, searching for any sign of a break or tear – and found none. ”Are you injured?” I asked, merely to be sure. Just my luck, of course, to run into a creature stupid enough to hurt itself on my first outing, and then wind up shouldering the blame.

Ruske;;

      She thanked me… I could not fathom why. My own reaction to vague insult was never gratitude, but perhaps custom differed in this land. Bemused, I merely nodded, unable to produce a suitable reply. The combination of water and cool air seemed to take effect quite rapidly; her muscles shuddered under the slick wrapping of her coat. A vague, weary stirring of sympathy moved in my breast. Though she appeared far too old for such a mistake, the accident had nonetheless occurred. I would not leave her to the cold; I was not so brutal, and I knew already the various ways in which warmth leaving the body could manifest. In short, I had little reason to watch her die.

      ”I suppose I might do something to ward against the chill,” I offered. Excitement kindled in the back of my mind. Now recovered from my illness, divorced from the choking sadness which had thrust me down, I felt renewed in my desire to help. With a steadying breath, I focused my attention inward, on some medium space between thought and reality. There in the past had burned a flame, small but important, and so briefly utilized. There I expected to find it again, but in the whirring expanse of my thoughts I found only a hollow. My eyes peeled open in dismay, finding no brilliance of orange light spilling from the long black spiral of my horn – as it should.

      Then I was bereft.

      The phoenix had abandoned me. I knew it then without a doubt, no cushion of possibility to shield me from the hard reality of my uselessness. I could not heal; I could not even call upon the magic I had once paid so dearly for. My breath wheezed out in a hard, sorrowful gust. Pathetic. I felt suddenly very tired.

      ”I suppose you may stand near me if you wish,” I said, conciliatory. ”I am diminished, but I may shelter you from any wind.” And my own body exuded a small amount of heat, though the thatch of winter hair I wore trapped much of that within. ”Do you reside anywhere nearby? I might escort you home, if it is safe there.” Such was the full amount of my power – so pathetic I had become. The words snapped brusque and without feeling from my mouth, bouncing hard against the winter air. I hardly cared if she answered in gratitude or rage; I probably deserved the latter, at the very least.

Ruske;;

      With dismay, I watched the keen fervor of thought bleed from her face. A dismal, blank expression replaced it: no longer haughty, but stammering and confused. Damn freezing water; damn winter, and the bite of cold! I stamped a hoof, myself well insulated by thick hair but skinny all the same, so obviously inept with matters of self-improvement I could hardly claim responsibility for another life. She stood before me all the same, pale hair glimmering as she trembled, and I stepped forward to meet her as she moved. Frail, foolish thing – yet I no longer felt anger. Hollow, I took my place beside her as only days ago others had taken a stance at my side. ”Lean on me if you wish.” I did not quite wish to touch her, but, compelled by duty if nothing else, I provided the option.

      ”You are suffering the effects of cold,” I informed her. Effects I was, in fact familiar with – though usually in younger animals, or those left to rot on the battlefield, sunk to the hip bones in thickening mud. Many years had passed since last I observed the effects of that particular condition; I supposed it good fortune, once again, I had witnessed so much misfortune in a previous life. Along with the muddled thoughts, the shivering, I suspected she felt rather numb as well – perhaps not even aware of the danger. We needed to move.

      Her fragile voice broke onto the air once more – something about the sea? My ears twisted as I wracked my thoughts. What herd land lay near the sea? The Tides… No – no. A relic from another time. I snorted, shook my head. In earnest, I crowded nearer the mare, no longer repulsed by the seal-gleam of her coat – only disturbed. The World’s Edge bordered ocean, but she did not smell of the Edge – unless it had washed away? ”Do you recall the name of the place?” I asked. As I spoke, I shuffled anxiously, unsettled by the gesture but guiding my long neck in an attempt to swing it over her back – an awkward sort of embrace. Chafing might bring warmth back to the skin, or merely crowding next to her – unless the cold had penetrated too deep. And if so, what? I had no fire. I decided, surreptitiously, to try nudging her further north. The World’s Edge lay uncomfortably far away, but walking should do her good, I supposed – stimulate the flow of blood. I did not care to think what would be thought of me if I appeared in need of a healer once more – even if not for myself.

Ruske;;

      Perhaps a certain lightness of frame rendered the mare more susceptible than others I had known. Belatedly, I wondered if the difference could be so vast – or perhaps the difference in species took some noticeable effect? I recalled nothing useful about the inner workings of the hornless beings – hadn’t they always seemed much the same? I must assume the severity of her reaction an individual case; I could hardly take time as I shepherded her to safety for pushing other thin mares into freezing water. At any rate, the touch of her frigid skin to my own distracted my wandering attention; flinching from the contact I expelled a hard breath, which as it went became a short, bitter cough.

      She was cold.

      I hoped my proximity might do her good, even as I wondered with some concern how deep the cold had penetrated. I had nearby nothing warm for her to drink, nothing to drape over her – nothing. Even my attempts at drawing further explanation from her received only more confused muttering: the sea, blue waves and sand… I sighed, supposing a beach likely lay somewhere near the World’s Edge, where the cliffs finally ended. But should I bother taking the chance and searching, or merely return us to my own home?

      For that matter, in which direction was my own home? I ascertained the vague direction of north from memory – the side of the meadow I had entered – but quickly wondered if perhaps I, too, was lost. Teeth gritted, I supposed I had no hope but to trust intuition – a practice I despised. North we would go, the sun high and cold overhead, the mare shivering at my side. I decided I should do my best to keep her awake and lucid. ”I will take you there but you must remain on your own feet, and tell me if you feel much worse."