Ring a round a rosie,
A pocket full of posies,
Ashes, Ashes, we all fall down

The night was always a welcome reprieve from the sweltering heat of the day, but after only a handful of hours it was morning again. Cineviam would daresay that the rigors of the prolonged Tallsun left nearly everyone a little parched and skulls were beginning to crack open, allowing seeds of prickly burrs to be planted in the surface of exposed brains. They were only a mild inconvenience now, causing shortened tempers as the unrelenting sun plotted against them all. But the burrs would grow, nourished by the heat and light and he wondered how long it would take until the sharp thorns spurred the citizens of Helovia into war.

Because the sunlight fell straight down through the tree branches, leaving the shadows to pool tightly against the trunks, Cineviam knew it was nearly noon. Many of the Edge’s mares and stallions would be seeking the deepest part of the forest, where it would be coolest, perhaps to nap away the worst hours of heat. Since the hot temperature seemed to bother the sooty leviathan the least of his comrades, far less than stormy weather that tried to sweep his ashes away from him, Cineviam chose this time to take a turn at patrolling the Edges borders.

Hanging upon the sultry haze (like a body dangling from the hangman's noose) there is the aroma of sweat and insecurity—a new taste upon the air (upon his mottled tongue) of new flesh. Dipping in and out of shadows, he closes in with swarthy footfalls, cloven hooves cushioned by ash and muffled from dense feathers. Ahead, he spotted the speckled rump of the frost king, who seemed to be keeping a watchful eye on the newcomer. A shadow of a shadow, Cineviam mimicked Mauja – stopping when he did and matched every step.

When Mauja peeled off to block the intruder’s path, he finally got a glimpse at the peaches and cream stallion, blood red eyes immediately noticing the lack of a horn. Still mirroring the ruler of the Edge, he circled around to cut off the equines retreat. Stepping out from the last screen of withered bushes shortly after the usual inquiry was made. “Stray too far from the well-beaten path and get lost?” he hazarded a guess, glancing at the brown dragon perched on the hornless’ back with mild suspicion.

Ring a round a rosie,
A pocket full of posies,
Ashes, Ashes, we all fall down

“Cineviam.

The charcoal brute with the smoldering ember-eyes identified himself. Delivered in a voice that was deep, powerful, spoken just above a whisper but made the impact of a shout. His gaze was still anchored on the brown reptile, retreating further up the equines neck to get away from him, and he cannot help but chuckle. So far, he was a fairly benign presence in their little threesome (foursome if you counted the bonded creature). When he meant to be intimidating – you’d know it.

It is a nauseatingly warm smile that passes against Cineviam’s ink-chapped lips as he tilted his coarse, Spanish-head to the side as if to ask where the dragon was going. He shifts his weight so that his haunches were slanted toward the ground, one leg resting on hoof tip. Hoping this new stance would further lull the dragon into a false sense of security since he seemed to be the only one who needed convincing. It wouldn’t do to frighten the visitors before they revealed their purpose and Mauja had concluded whether they were welcome or not.

The barest hint of a storm cloud settled upon his brow, scarlet eyes narrowing upon the trespassing stallion when he spoke of a master. Powerful, up-and-coming leaders were more inconspicuous in gathering followers. They stuck to the threshold and neutral grounds, singling out a lone mare or stallion. In Cineviam’s experience, only religious nuts traipsed into already occupied lands alone and eager to convert, faithful that their god would protect and guide them. The sooty leviathan didn’t ask the peaches and cream stallion to elaborate. Why ask a question that he already knew the answer to?

Instead he let the frost-king do all the talking and leant a patient curve-tipped ear to Torasin, waiting for the equine to launch into a spiel about damnation and salvation or whatever sales-pitch the equine thought would work on the unicorns of The World’s Edge.

Ring a round a rosie,
A pocket full of posies,
Ashes, Ashes, we all fall down

Torasin with his good manners, flash and noise confused him.

The peaches and cream stallion no longer seemed completely confident in his mission, soothed and lulled into a state of false security by his faith in the gods. The trepidation exposed in those verdant eyes as he looked between the cinder beast and the frost king, proved that he had a good grasp of the danger he was in, yet the fool refused to surrender and retreat before he crossed the line. Cineviam imagined he could hear the stallion and his bonded’s hearts beating, a fast, rabbit-like flicker.

Did Torasin see his death in them?

“I have little interest for the Sun God – or His anger” he replied with a rasp like silk drawn over a whetstone, unconcerned in the face of the outsider’s threat. Retrospect is 20/20 and perhaps Cineviam would have chosen his words more carefully had he known that a large portion of his home would be torched or the ordeal he would face at Thistle Meadow. Might have been more cautious but no doubt the sentiment would have remained the same. Screw the Sun God…

Maybe He needed to get laid.

During the rest of the speech, he hovered hither and thither as though he were made of nothing but soot and a dark cloud of damned noxious substances that polluted the air. His ashes that were previously clumped together in a pile at his hooves – meaning wait – started to come to life. They crawled like serpents, on their bellies, claws digging into the soil toward Torasin’s hind legs as if to shackle him in place. The manic gleam in the blue depths of the Frostheart’s eyes and the cat-that-caught-the-canary smile upon his pale lips made Cineviam’s blood sing in anticipation. He remembered the king’s final words regarding Sun Follower’s during the Blood Order meeting – show them no mercy.

He was on the move when Mauja put a question to Torasin – giving peaches and cream little opportunity to focus entirely on one threat or the other. Slow, measured steps are careful not to bring the snow and charcoal behemoth within his target’s kicking zone as he slipped out from behind him. A few moments later he halted again, he hadn’t quite moved 90 degrees from his original position. Cineviam was faced toward golden flank and haunch instead of silken off-white tail. Perhaps he only wanted a better view.

However, the moment Torasin seemed to concentrate more on the abominable snowman – the king deserved one’s undivided attention, especially when he asked a question – Cineviam took that as his opportunity to dart in. Chin tucked to his chest and horn lowered, he originally meant to carve a “C” into Torasin’s golden haunch so everyone would know who gave it to him. He had also considered an “M” so they’d know which leader Torasin had crossed but while he launched himself at the outsider he decided to mark him with a “S” so everyone would know him for what he truly was – a Sun worshipper.

Knowing retribution would follow swiftly he was too concerned about getting a stride or two back between them that he didn’t know if he his endeavour was successful or not. But, if his king allowed it than Cineviam was just getting started.

Ring a round a rosie,
A pocket full of posies,
Ashes, Ashes, we all fall down

Dragon claws miss the fluid white mane that could be considered a worn out drape from some dusty haunted house, full of dust and grime and yet continuing to show an off-white in spots. His front end was making a quicker retreat than his hind, having pivoted around and pointed away. Cineviam felt the heat from the first blast of fire on his haunches and his tail started snapping back and forth, hoping to distract the brown reptile. Adrenaline inspired his back legs to push faster, harder and further away than he originally intended.

A couple more blasts followed and the bottom of his tail curled and smoked from the heat. He was lucky – this time – that only his hair was singed and skin was left unharmed. When it became clear that the dragon wasn’t going to take flight and immediately pursue, he put on the brakes and wheeled about, bloodied eyes honing in on Kiba. He already decided that if he were to attempt a second charge, his payback was running the brown through with his horn like a stuck pig.

Cineviam the Dragonslayer- it had a nice ring to it, no?

Instead his gaze was met by an unexpected sight. It was not Torasin whirling about in an effort to run away because he should have foreseen that, and after marking the golden rump he should have tried to retreat back to his original position where he sealed off the rear. If peaches and cream got away before Mauja wanted him too, Cineviam knew it would be because of his impulsiveness. At first, he had no idea what was happening to the dragon, only that something was not right. He thought it was connected to the ground rumbling until an impressive ice spike shot out of the ground in front of Torasin. A dark madness shivered through his bones and surged from every pore in his callous body as he looked toward his leader. This was the first time Cineviam had gotten a glimpse at what built Mauja’s throne – it was cold and sharp and could be used to cut up unsuspecting victims pretty badly.

Good to know.

Lowering his horn so it was parallel to the ground, he bluffed an attack not once but twice. Each time it brought the cinderbeast closer back to the fray but still managing to keep a distance between him and the brown dragon. The feints also kept the targets distracted, so they didn’t focus entirely on Mauja while he waited for some indication of what the ice-king wanted done with the hornless Sun preacher.

Run out of The Edge kicking and screaming?

Death?

So far it looked like target practice, but his rash behavior had almost let Torasin get away once already.