Love in a hut, with water and a crust,
Is - Love forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust.”
- John Keats

The pretty little dove responded lightning quick to his urging. A smug satisfaction settled deep in the pit of his stomach, as it always did when his influence yielded results. He hesitated only for a split second to take the rear, but he was still hot on her heels. Positioning himself so that he had easy access to nip at her nearest haunch and tender flank should the pregnant mare start to lag. He was mildly impressed by the punishing pace she set. To crack the whip further would only be cruel.

For a while – it was hard to tell how long when minutes felt like hours – there was only the sound of them crashing through the shallow water at the edge of the river. Cineviam had moved up alongside the snow-white mare without even realizing it. It had to be hard work, galloping for their lives while heavily pregnant, further impeded by water, although he had been mindful and pointed them with the current rather than against it. He saw the signs that she was starting to flag, her stride had shortened and the crimson flush could be seen deep within her flaring nostrils.

Shifting his weight to his haunches, he halted abruptly before she did and made a 180 degree turn to gauge the distance between them and the glow of the distant fire. Smoke billowed into the sky and he half expected an incandescent dragon to soar in hot pursuit, lashing its yellow and orange and vermillion tail, eyes flashing, roaring a challenge to all knights and would-be slayers. He hoped this wasn’t a head start in a spirited game of hide-and-seek. Now that the sun had slipped below the horizon and night enveloped Helovia, he hoped the God would also take a break or, at the very least, go and terrorize somewhere else. Fire would make a quick meal out of the shrivelled grass, the bloody tongues of conflagration spread fast and he had no nifty magic trick to snuff it out with rain or hail. It would be safest to exit Thistle Meadow altogether but taking a breather wasn’t out of the question.

Most of the effects of the adrenaline pumping through his veins had worn off and burning sensations blossomed where the Sun God’s wave of flames had seared him from above. A few large blisters littered his neck and withers, mostly contained to his left side. The dense feathers had protected his legs from the fire underfoot. Every step he took toward Daenerys irritated and enflamed the ones closest to his shoulder where his skin bunched and stretched the most. They weren’t life threatening and he would still be able to gallop and fight if a new situation surfaced. On the bright side, the burns would give the doctor and nurse something to do when he got home.

The touch on his coal-brushed shoulder caused him to stop and look down at her, crimson eyes threatening to swallow her up. He snorts abruptly, a black cloud of ash swirled thickly before him before falling to his hooves. Cineviam doesn’t return the nudge but he doesn’t move away either. There is another smile on Daenerys lips and he doesn’t understand it nor does he respond to her gratitude. “They are superficial injuries” he said gruffly before his blood-red eyes scrutinized her form. “Are you?”