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There was always, always, a price to pay. For good or bad, for crime or for heroics- there was always another tax. It was something Mother Blackfoot had taught, taught very well, to a younger Tor. Here the draft was, collecting the tax that Xanthos owed for keeping the lady Mirage against her will, for thieving her under the cloak of friendship, for giving her the false promise of loyalty when he had dragged her here to be bloodied and likely tortured. Was it, maybe, wrong of the Dragonheart to invade the ex-Edge? Yes, but why, how, did the Auroreans think they would solve the problem by attacking them ever further? By stealing them?
Trouble, that’s what they would get. “Now don’t you go sticking your nose into that hole of trouble, Tor, because the monster inside it will give you a nice bite on the nose if you’re lucky.” Father Whitewood had constantly told her, until the message was imprinted on the inside of her head. Well, along with other countless life lessons- “You get what you give”, “A cold heart is a lost horse”, “Fighting never solves the problem”, “Violence only causes more violence”. There is a twinge of guilt twanging her heart as her teeth crush the fragile bones of the grullo’s slender tail. She was breaking every law she had abided to, every law she had told others countless times to not do. “Whatever did you do to yourself, Phaedra?” “You should take better care of yourself.” For those reason, she had done so much as well. Forged friendships and discovered not to rely on stereotypes.
She had changed even more, changed ever more as she tended to do. Lei had always told her she was good at adapting to the circumstances, to work under pressure- but now Tor wondered uneasily if this was more of a bad thing.
The sun glowed in her eyes, blinding her momentarily before she turned her head, shielding herself from the hot pain, her hooves still moving underneath her. Then the now-slimed fur of his lion’s tail was gone, and the pain in her mangled mouth even worse. It was pain unlike she had ever experienced- by now it had widened to a sizeable amount, the blood not stopping either. She must’ve pierced a nerve- but she couldn’t recall Lei saying much about mouth wounds. It was, after all, nearly impossible to somehow spear yourself in the mouth. Sure, Lei had told her about scratches on the tongue, thistles and such, but never how to treat a gaping abyss in the side of your muzzle!
She wasn’t surprised to see, or rather feel, as he moved by, evading her mule kick except for a firm clip. It wasn’t a jolt, exactly, that run through her hind- a subtle thrumming, maybe, would have better describe the draft’s feeling.
Even despite her luck, or not that she would ever say so, maybe a little to do with some hidden natural skill she had surpassed, squashed, and suffocated with learning to heal, Tor didn’t know who would win the fight. No idea how quickly or long they make take. Now she was just hoping it would end soon, so she didn’t have to cause more pain. Was it really justifiable, causing more pain to save pain from another? It didn’t make sense! It simply wasn’t... logical. So why was Tor fighting? Why was the peaceful healer confusing, baffling, herself by fighting? She was torn between wanting to cry and wanting to hide or run. Her legs did not ache, she was only a little short of breath- but the mental pain was even more excruciating than the hot fireworks on the side of her muzzle.
Tor was damaging someone. For several months, if he went without a healer. Even if d’Artagan healed Xanthos, she had done it. Tor was the one who had decided to fight. At this point, the only reason she kept going was knowing she had already done irreparable damage to her reputation, and the hope of saving Mirage. Not for Lace, not for the Edge- but because maybe it would redeem herself, even if just a little.
The draft was only half-way through her turn to face him when he came leaping at her out of nowhere. He was shorter than her, however- but it was only the rush of fear, the predatory sense, that made her go leaping sideways in terror. There was a deep pang of shame somewhere inside her chest as she remembered running from the wolves, leaving Lace and Sohalia. Maybe it was the primitive instinct that saved her. But it didn’t make her feel better.
She didn’t waste time. “We are done.” The words were empty, but true. “We are done.”
"talk talk talk"
move move move
think think think
WC: 797
Defense: Releases tail and moves back up the hill towards the cave to avoid Xanthos' rear
OOC: 4/4 + 1/1 Defense Post
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![[Image: winter_snow_by_ladyfey-d5g626q.png]](http://fc01.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2012/271/6/a/winter_snow_by_ladyfey-d5g626q.png)
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(JUDGE) price to pay [xan, challenge]
