Cracks of thunder and flashes of light had woke the new Sultan from his rest. He walked the cool sands of the Throat, avoiding the sky and it's tumultuous storm. He had no desire to be charred by lightning trying to fly in such weather, though there were many he knew would be pleased by his death. Sleep did not come easily lately, not when strangers often lurked in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to drag him away from the herd. The ex-Edge would not have him easily, if at all.

The sky above the desert had turned an angry red, not sweet like the rich ruby of Faelene's mane. The sun often rose over the Throat in bright colors, but none so ominous as the bloody one that had taken hold. The charger cast his pale eyes across the dry terrain, drawn towards the sheets of birds that flew haphazardly up into the strange atmosphere. They all seemed to be leaving one certain point far in the distance, as if there was something there that frightened them terribly. Lines of concern fell across his brow. Something was not right. Drawing himself up, Leander stretched into a calculated lope towards the site that the birds were fleeing. The gilded stag followed the line of smoke, coughing every so often in the acrid clouds. His eyes stung the farther he went, and tears threatened to fall from their edges, but he did not slow. If anything intended on threatening the herd, be it a fire or the ex-Edge, it would be stopped. He was prepared to lie his life down for the Throat; to keep the promise he'd made at all costs.

The sight of the birds presumed fear was finally reflected in Leander's pale eyes. A great tree, not so unlike the majestic one that lay by the lake, stood amongst the billows of smoke. It was in full and healthy foliage, clearly not a normal sight for the end of a harsh Frostfall. The bronze stag knew the tree was not of this desert, and with both curiousity and caution, he approached with a critical gaze.

Lightning struck right and left, bolts of the white electricity flashing dangerously close. He kept a wary eye alert for any lines that might aim for him, but a different sort of light soon caught his eye. Fire. The groundbrush was aflame, and almost instantaneously, so was the tree. Startled, he threw his massive frame backwards away from the heat. Anger rose in his chest, fury at the red flames that danced across his land. That was when the cry rang out. A beautiful, young eagle was trapped in the flaming tree. "No!" The word left his mouth in a surreal scream, piercing the foul air like the fledgling's cry. Then he was a mass of dark feathers and blond fur as he lept in the air for the tree, the same moment as the Ice Demon's magic erupted the snowstorm.

Snow reigned hard over the charring tree, the cold only a seconds relief before he burst through the flames, eyes closed and mouth opened to grab the chick from it's nest. Anticipation of the pain was met only by a subtle pressure, an dull ebbing pinch where the fire grabbed his skin. Portions of his forelimbs, chest, and face were burnt, the hair seared away leaving ugly bald red in it's wake, yet he was spared from the intensity of the pain. Wings thrusting him forward, he aimed for the soft down of the young eagle, hoping to hold it gently in his maw as he pulled up and away from the fire.

Mahogany wings beat the air as he pulled the fledgling out of the fire and away from the burning foliage. The bronze flew a short distance from the fire, yet still within clouds of the acrid smoke, before dropping back down to the sand. The small body within his mouth struggled from his light grasp, and he quickly lowered his seared face to the ground as the chick slid out of his maw.

He did not know how badly the flames had hit the eagle, not seeing the injury until the young thing laid splayed out on the soil. It's unseasoned wings had been marred by the fire; feather's burnt off and patches of skin left an angry raw. Ice eyes gazed down at the tragic sight for the briefest of seconds, worry clear in their cold gleam. He needed to get the bird away from the smoke and storm, to safety, if it would have any chance at this life. He lowered his singed muzzle back down to grasp the chick again, this time taking a more even hold on it's small body while trying to avoid irritating it's painful wings. Then the sultan was off, pushing into as smooth a lope as he could manage across the desert. Muscles strained under blond fur, fighting to hold his skull still and even to prevent the precious cargo from any more pain. The little one likely still felt the slow rocking of the gait, but there was no harm to be found in the LionHeart's mouth.

Finally having left the wall of smoke and burning tree far behind, Leander slowed to a halt. On the remnants of dried, dead grasses, he lowered the fledgling. Carefully, the palomino then laid himself down, stretching out one downy wing over the eagle to provide a buffer from the wind and a source of insulation. The Ice Demon had left his body chilled to the touch, and so he ignored the inclination he felt to try to warm the hatchling by his skin. All he could do for the moment was try to keep the little one safe and protected through the rest of the red night. It would need food, but where would he find worms for the chick? No, they would be elusive in this season. With determination, he gazed out across the Throat, wondering if there might be some carcass he could plunder for the young eagle. The weight of the new responsibility fell heavy on gold shoulders, and he couldn't help but wonder if his actions would even be enough to save the struggling life. "Hold on, little one. You must be strong now." He spoke softly, as if the reassurance would be understood. For a moment he was unsure of whether the words were meant for the chick under his wing at all.