Belief was a concept too abstract to ever understand. She would never really know her sister, not in Birch's mind. If he knew of her and her plight he might have said something, done something other than arrive silently behind her in the meadow. There were no dead grasses to dance and tickle the roots that cradled his legs, there was only ice. He found it comforting, found it amusing. These creatures fell to the earth and died from the starvation they found and winter, whereas he need nothing but the sun to survive.

It was cold and ruthless, bright and unforgiving, but the sun was what kept him alive. He hated it for that very reason sometime, longed at times for it to fall from the heavens and crash to the earth. He would die even before the world burned. In that flash of time when everything was dark and still and the sun was about to hit the earth, he would die and at last be at peace. He would feel utter bliss and tranquility, and he would count himself luckier than those to die in his wake. He had heard there was a God of the Sun here- he wanted to spit in the great being's eye. When dreams left and in their absence he was faced with the idea of death in disaster, he would smile to himself.

But still the sun hung high- if he would have to murder the God of the Sun to bring it down... oh, if only he possessed the power. He stepped deeper into the meadow, taking in the sight of the bear and his bloody prize and the foolish mare that still sought ,ife where there was none. He felt the cold cover his coat and chill the pain from his most recent battle- his most recent loss. Even as he circled around to stand before her, to look down on her and pass his gaze over her, he said nothing.

What was there to say?

The mare is a mother protective of all of her children- he saw it in the fire of her deep red eyes that reminded him of his own and he respected it. He was not one to ever think of himself as a nurturing sort- for he believed that to bring a child into this world was only a manner of preemptively taking them out of it- but he allowed himself to take a gentle step closer to the small bear that tore so hungrily at its play. He was more akin with this wild and violent creature than any other that breathed in the meadow.

Respectfully, he lowered his head. She spoke as if she held authority beyond that of a mother, and unlike the stallion that he had fought before, he believed her. Her challenge was open and direct and she made no attempts to solicit. She struck him as the type to stay on her own and outside of the confines of a herd, but he would have been more likely to follow her than Archibald any day.

That bastard- he still felt the throbbing pain from the fight, still had dry flecks of blood peeling off in places. He bent his head to nip at the scabs on his shoulder; they were more irritating as the healed, it was simpler tot aste the sharpness fo the blood on his teeth and feel the slight thrill of being alive while he still could be. To feel death or anything along its path was the closest he would get to salvation until the time came for the world to collapse in fire.

"My intent is not to harm," He said with a low baritone and a callous expression, "merely to exist in the same space, and perhaps learn. I apologize if this makes you uncomfortable," He answered her, ending the last thought as if there was more to say, and yet leaving it open and straightforwardly rude. She could hate him for all she wanted, he had every right to be where he was, and while he might apologize that would be all he would do. He would fight to stay in this ugly, barren, and unfamiliar meadow that held no importance to him- he would fight for anything if it meant bringing him any closer to death.

The great Arborun's eyes narrowed with distaste as the mare continued along the same path. Spirit was one thing, disrespect was another. He was far older and wiser than she and deserved to be treated with deference; her attitude would not be met with cordiality. His tired head lifted higher and his eyes began to heat- the flecks caught the light and for all the world it seemed as if blood turned to fire in an instant. "Learning by observation is just as fine a way to learn as any other," he spoke through gritted teeth, watching the mare's every movement and waiting on her to pounce. She was like a snake, coiled and ready to spring forth to strangle- he was but the last mound of snow holding back the avalanche.

If there was any semblance left of a civil and dignified air, it was gone in the next instant. "Then again..." the stallion murmured, "there has never been anything wrong with learning by doing." And with that the great lug of a beast was in motion, thundering forth and breaking the barrier of air between them in an instant. He felt closeness and proximity; emotion fluttered in the face of confrontation. Hot air puffed from his nostrils and stained the air white, aching muscles that had been used not long enough before to give him any sort of advantage protested, and yet the body disobeyed. His balance shifted and his mind reared with his body; he focused his form and steadied his grip on the stance. He did not aim for the child or the bear beside her, but for the neck; so tender and delicately curved, directly in the line of one quick and wild kick.

When his hooves found purchase a rush passed through him and a wild grin hit his features. He felt satisfaction and a thrill akin to dying- he wanted to die, and he wanted her to die. Perhaps only in that instant, but the thought crossed his mind. How grand it would be to have her bleeding at his feet in forgiveness, for him to deny it. He would not deal the final blow, simply turn and walk away. It was not his place to make the end of someone, simply guide them there.

Thoughts that kept his mind preoccupied stalled the draft's body. The time between his first sight of the buck and its hit was short, he could only barely shift to lift his head and instead force the hooves into his unprotected neck.

The pain was instantaneous, like he had been suddenly choked, and he gasped for air. But for some reason the initial taking away of his breath from impact didn't leave- he remained unable to breathe, to inhale that dreadful air that had helped to keep him alive all these years. The asphyxiation drew on for longer than it should have and he felt as if his lungs and throat were in a vise- his heartbeat slowed and his eyes rolled. His body, once a towering testament to strength, faltered and fell to the earth. Uncontrollably his legs kicked out as branches snapped and pain was sent through his jerking body.

He was dying, he realized through the haze. This was his last moment on earth and soon it would all be over and he could find what he'd been searching for all these years. Through the chokehold he somehow found a way to cough, and with every wracking sound came a sound like laughter, a look of joy. Tears began to fall from his eyes, perhaps because of the stress on his body, perhaps out of the elation he felt.

Branches began to bend and twist and wither and his body curled as if growing smaller. There was a fog over his mind and he could barely think, but he knew what he wanted. He couldn't speak but he knew what he'd say.

Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't fucking stop.

Laughter filled coughing spread through the air as the arborun kicked against the effects of the magic. His vision began to fail him and the sounds of the area grew muffled. But this was not death.

In an instant his company tore from him the elation and left him cold. The coughing turned to gasping, one which he could not control, one which he could control to destroy. She had a useful skill- he found himself wondering if it could be taught. A draft without magic and a tree on his back could only get so far in this land, it seemed. Having some of her knowledge would have perhaps been useful.

"You would make a troublesome opponent, wouldn't you?" he spoke in a quiet, choked sentence. "Nevertheless, power such as yours is to be respected,"he continued as he looked up at her dark and ominous figure. It was rare he showed respect of any kind, but he could not deny it of her; not when she could kill with no more than a thought. Then again... to take a life without reservation, to think it was her right. His face twisted in a displeased grimace, but he said no more. It was too late to go back now, and whatever her foolish notions may have been, she could be useful in telling him of this new land. His body struggled to regain its strength, but his figure soon lifted itself upwards once more. Winter eyes stained with blood looked down on her, wondering if she was quite finished. He had no more intention of attacking, as thrilling as her magic had been. She had seen its effects on him and surely had no intention of using them upon him again. Killjoy.

He stood tall, shaking off the sensation that he had either missed a wonderful opportunity or proven himself wrong. His mane and tail, long, thick, and scattered with the bark of his lifeplant, caught the cold wind and flew in waves like a banner. Sick and twisted as he was, there was something majestic about him. And something intriguing, like the hooked worm to the fish. Perhaps she'd bite.