R I C O C H E T - - raise your GUN and it's over

Long nights and cold days the boy and his dog had spent wandering the backsides of nameless countries. Madness fed the heedless travel of the dun, stirring his hooves into such a frenzy they chipped away until he could barely stand on bleeding soles. The dog fared no better, pads cracking and claws shrinking to stubs as all manner of terrain was eaten by the distance they put between Isilme and themselves. The collie, barely older than a pup at the time, and still, had briefly considered abandoning the pale maniac who's pelt tasted of dirt and smelled of gunpowder. Some inner sense of loyalty kept the dog steadfast however, teaching it not to abandon, but to endure.

When all the angry and the bitter had spun from the colt in sweat, blood and explosives, he turned instead to an aimless walk of shame, burning with fever and delirium. He often muttered into the night and hung under the shade of trees in the day, suddenly seeming afoul of sunlight. The dog at first did little more than whine and whimper, accustomed to being the child that was provided for. Guns soon learned that his voice went unheard by the lost boy and each rise of the moon showed the slimming of their bodies and the withering of their minds. Ricochet seemed not to mind, but the dog growled and barked and bit at the shadows that encased them. Splintered pads bled over dirt and rock as the collie chased game, learning with every failure and growing with every success. At first he hoarded his catches, resenting the dun boy that chased his tail every dawn, but with starvation quelled and loyalty churning in his full gut, Guns began to drag his catches back to the child. Ricochet refused whenever he noticed, often laughing a cruel, maddening laugh at the dog. Feathered tail would waver and tuck, confusion lowering the amber gaze of the collie.

He turned this gaze outward, watching the deer and the passing hoofstock. They always bent to eat the grass and ran from the wolves that howled and nipped from the shrubs. Guns could not understand then why Ricochet refused to eat the grass he trod into mush every day - if he didn't need to catch it, why was he wasting it?

That night of realization the dog laid down beside the panting horse and began to lick the insanity from him. There was a sickness within Ricochet that manifested within the heart and from there it settled in the mind and devoured the body. Guns could not revisit the past, could not change the events that had brought them here and could not return what Ricochet had lost, but he could remind the buttermilk to fight for what remained of their future. So it was that with dog curled around him, fuzzy body providing warmth in a nest of snow, Ricochet began to mend.

Anger had moved to shame. Shame now moved to acceptance. A newfound quiet filled Ricochet, one he had not known since the nights when he would lay with Misery, the nights before Gunslinger came from the beach and would pick him up only to throw him back down. Teal eyes blinked back at the world that had seemed forged in a haze and now stung with such clarity he could hardly bare it. Though the body still ached, worn by his abuse and open wounds still scarring from the dragonfire, Ricochet and Guns rose to a dawn and began to travel once more. They wandered now with an easy pace and nearly playful hearts.

As the seasons wore on they came to Helovia, just as spring gave bloom to its last flowers. Guns wondered if the dun knew he had begun to loop back to his previous home. If he did, he never mentioned it, though there was a stiffening in his gait and a distance in his eyes that suggested the boy knew what lay further east. The collie feigned ignorance, keeping his nose close to the violet thistles they waltzed over, intent on finding prey that this lush region boasted of. Ricochet hung back, head dunking into the stream to drink his fill and roughly swirl the water. Its cool embrace was like a balm over the white scars that littered his face. Though the flesh had since healed, it often throbbed and burned as if the dragon returned nightly to burn him anew.

R I C O C H E T - - raise your GUN and it's over

A face appeared in the lines that his touch cast into the water's edge. Unperturbed, but cautious, Ricochet's pale head lifted from the ripples. Water droplets ran in cascades off bent whiskers for a moment as teal eyes stared dimly at the child across from him. The stream exploded with the drizzle off his face. The girl drew into herself, terrorized by some manner of demon that she found.

She fled.

Like a fawn darting through the trees the filly bounded back through the meadow. Ricochet felt hollowed. Curiously he bent his nose back towards the water, but this time he glanced at his haggard reflection. A grimace of sorts parted his lips as he thought he might run away from himself, if only he could.

For a time the dunskin stood, dark muzzle still dripping on occasion. Weakly the stallion dropped his head and pressed shut his eyes. The world was a dark place, but it seemed all too bright today.

As he began to retreat back into that internal world of his, a flicker of orange caught his attention. Such a rarity was the shape, much less the hue, that the wandering stud gave himself pause. Could it be? His voice asked the cracks of his mind.
Silence.

Another beat of wings and rustle of trees. The shape passed again, brilliant and glittering. Dragon.
He knew that type of animal anywhere. His pulse quickened, fear gripping his nose with claws so hot his nostrils flared in their sudden struggle to breathe. The white scars began to pulse against his tattered muzzle. His head flung high, eyes wild with pale rims and bright gleams. It comes again! Ricochet screamed.

Knees shot to his chest as the muscled body rose defiant against the sky. Like a writhing snake he tossed his head from side to side, lips frothing and teeth clicking. In the distance a dog's cry rallied the clouds. It shot through the din of the boy's mind like the starting bell of a race. He hung a moment longer as hooves gripped soil and shoved him into thunderous motion. A copper bullet, Ricochet shot across the land, heels snapping at shadows and hooves striking at light.

Through the streaming banner of black that carried proudly behind him, a monochrome blur arrived. So low and long, Guns hugged the ground like a living shade, nose wrinkled against the wind of their speed. He knew not what drove the dunskin but he had not seen such vitality since the day of the fight and he relished the energy and excitement. Resisting the urge to bark only barely, the pare of them shot through the brush, heading the way the filly had come through only moments before.

The foliage cleared. The orange dragon loomed. Hooves and paws landed in a field of glittering dust. Teeth flashed and tails waved.

Guns lunged at the kneeling mare and coiled foal. No more than a feint, more bark than bite, the pup reeled back the moment he realized his target. Ricochet paused even sooner, forelegs stiffening into poles that jammed him into a hard stop. His head flung tall, legs buckling and spine arching as he stumbled backwards. The gunpowder around him drifted like dust motes, slowly falling to the dirt around them, tumbling past leaves like a slow, silver rain.

"You" he cried, his tone choking. Disbelief wrote itself plainly on his face, but what his eyes could scarcely believe his nose confirmed. His chest hammered like a caged rabbit and his lungs all but lost their air. With only a whisper on his lips Ricochet breathed her name.

"Evangeline-"

R I C O C H E T - - raise your GUN and it's over

Thankfully the dragon did not overreact to the poor decisions made by stallion and dog. The situation could have easily been made violent when it was only a fog that needed to be cleared.

Thought events unraveled quickly the Incendiary felt time nearly halt. The world swayed under him while recognition flickered like a desperate moth in the light of his eyes. First, that it was Evangeline, sweet Evangeline that stood before him. Second, that the orange dragon was her bonded, though thankfully well controlled. Third, that the strange child cowered at her side. And finally, fourth, that she moved to protect it.

That single shift of her body was the same as a finger sliding over the trigger of a revolver. Hot lead slugged his chest while smoke curled around the gun barrel, hissing quietly.
The filly is hers.

Ricochet reeled. Limbs staggered and haunches buckled. The dog whined and pulled back, abruptly anxious by the mood that stained the air. Ricochet only just avoided slipping to the ground, his rump held by the crutch of a tree trunk. A groggy head hung low between widespread legs. It helped to steady the rhythm of his body, in which velocity had spiked.

"Is this?" he managed to groan out after a lapse of silence, teal eyes fluttering at Evangeline's feet, and unfortunately, the additional pair of the girls'. The fact of her horn escaped him now. The knowledge of Evangeline being claimed by another was more than enough to bear, especially after reuniting with her in such a manner, but to eventually understand that she feared for the child's life in his company would break him. His mind shielded him, making him blind to this for now, blind to the horn which would surely drive the bullet deeper into his flesh.

He would not kill her.

Nevermind that Ricochet had not the strength or purpose left to slaughter right now, if ever. Nevermind that Evangeline had due cause to fear him and little reason to trust him, he could not duly blame her for that, but it would hurt all the same.

Aylin took in her a part of Evangeline. In Ricochet's eyes, she was always safe, always beautiful.
Gunslinger had loved his sweet flower, and though she'd born a winged child, Gunslinger had loved that too.
It seemed Ricochet would follow his father's footsteps in the battlefield and matters of the heart.


Licking from the collie brought a gradual calm over the stallion. Evangeline spoke still, so casual, but her voice tight, body tense. Ricochet did not notice, still too overwhelmed by her presence and her child as a whole rather than in detail. He heard her though, even if he did not truly hear her.

"Made it out?" he asked, quizzically tilting his head. 'Brows knitted, confused in various ways by this meeting and that particular statement. Finding no better reason than she was surprised he'd made it out of the fight with Smoke, a bitter and difficult subject for him still, Ricochet was at once wounded in his pride. Teeth set together with a sound, ears tilting back in uncertainty and agony. His tones, once buttery soft and weak had firmed as the boy became defensive. I am wounded still under these scars, so not bother them so.

"Of course I made it out," he snapped, tail flicking in annoyance. Smoke was a fine mare, she'd certainly proved her worth and her skill. Still, she was but a mare, and a healer at that! If not for her dragon the meadow would have been turned. "Did you think I would be so easily felled by such a pathetic opponent?" He snorted, his arrogance rising if only to hide his fear and his weakness. Isn't that what it had always been fore? "It took some time I'll admit... dragon fire is not so easy..." he trailed off, having few excuses that would be impressive or accurate. Shaking the mane from his eyes he stood taller, shooting the conversation back at her if only to avoid such heavy staring at his failures.

"What are you even doing here? Won't the Woodlands be needing their healer?"

R I C O C H E T - - raise your GUN and it's over

Her affirmation was like hot lead whirling through his chest. He glanced away for a moment. How his eyes burned.

Quickly he distracted himself with the rest of their conversation which was quickly dipping to the heated side. Evangeline had never been a cool rain to douse his fires, which was half of his affection for her. She stood her ground no matter the opponent or the cause. Perhaps the mare provided a gentile front, but behind all her soft spoken words and smiles she was just as ready to ignite.

In-between her explanations she found time to chide and accuse. This only set Ricochet further on edge, his spine bristling with cold dread at all he began to realize. "Leader?" Ricochet managed to blurt out at last, eyes wide with surprise and a smidge of respect soon after. The time properly needed to appraise the fine mare however was quickly eaten by his ears flicking to the statement she'd said prior. "The shades attacked?" He'd known of the shade problem before leaving. He'd even begun to help solve it, as regrettable an experience as that was.

"Everyone...left?" His voice was hollowed, his body numb and weak. This was not what the young stallion had been expecting to hear. On the tail of so much other bad news, Ricochet could all but stand. Beside him Guns whined nervously, uncertain of all that had transpired but keen enough to sense the tension and the twisting mass of confusion inside the dunskin.

For a while Ricochet was quiet, staring only at the ground with a vacant expression. He could barely grasp the idea that the magnificent homeland of Isilme was in ruin. That the herds had scattered and that... they had all failed.

How could they have failed?

A rash of anger overwhelmed the stallion. The dirt at his hooves began to turn gray and black and shiny in the forest light. At his side Guns growled uneasily, tail tucking and hackles rising.

"THE TOME GUARDIAN BETRAYED US!" Ricochet thundered suddenly, forehooves thrashing repeatedly at his gunpowder soil. "He said he could send them back, the shades. He lied. HE LIED EVANGELINE!" Miniscule explosions began to pop around the stallions hooves. His head flung up suddenly, eyes wide with white and teeth champing up foam. From his nose clouds of explosive particles whirred around in streams as his chest heaved with the rage burning in his gut.

R I C O C H E T - - raise your GUN and it's over

The outward rage became a cold, internal thing as Ricochet became more and more aware of Evangeline's casual tones and protectiveness of the old freak. With disgust the boy looked upon the mare, her physical beauty lost to him now, now that she was soiled by a unicorn and its spawn. How he ever thought he could have loved this delicate flower of the Woodlands he'd never remember.

The Gunpowder would remain turned, but the ignition died as Ricochet's teeth set together sharply. Teal eyes narrowed in a hostile manner toward the Pure. "You are weak," he hissed at her, head shaking like a snake prepared to strike. Coldly the dunskin backed away, ears sunken into his mane, dog crawling uncertainly though tensely beside him.

"I will go back to what is rightfully ours. I will go back to our homes and renew the glory of Isilme. You and all the other cowards can rot here for all I care." With a dismissive snort the stallion turned and hammered down the way he'd come on hard, harsh hooves.