The Dauntless stood like a statue, though his ears dropped carefully with fatigue. He had let the soldiers rest very little as they returned home, for to spend time in the Wilds injured meant to dance the lines of death, a border in which Archibald was not ready to taunt. He had pressed ahead, however, leaving those that had the burden of carrying back their fallen comrade behind him. Anger boiled hot in the gut of the beast, and he was ready to explain everything to Ktulu, to Circe. However, as a call erupted across the knolls before him, the General was relieved that it was the call of Lakota, loyal and ready till her very end. Closing his eyes delicately, the blackened soldier took in a shaky, labored breathe, before he opened his eye again to Lakota’s face, etched with lines of worry.

Quickly, the blue mare moved. She examined him in calculated, emotionless movements that sent the General rigid, his muscles tightened along his spine, shoulders, ribs and legs. Her touch was not a comforting one, a touch one of his brothers might press on his skin, but it was dutiful, and it caused pain. Despite the tickle that shivered across Archibald’s hip, he did not flinch. He was strong. He was fine, he convinced himself, but as Lakota’s expression shadowed at the sight of his burns, Archibald sighed. Taking a step back, Archibald lifted his chin and Lakota placed her muzzle on his deep chest. Within seconds, his entire form was tingling, and he closed his eyes. A cool relief settled over his body, he could feel sinew and epidermis being reformed, knitting together wholly. This healing would leave no scars, unlike the healing of Tor when he had been burned by dragon fire—no, these burns were not nearly as great.

Sit. Now. Archibald relayed to his companion, looking down on her with hardened eyes. His anger towards her still churned, bile in the back of his throat. She had not listened. Maybe now she would understand why he had not let her battle alongside him so many times—her instinct was too great, and she did not understand when to kill and when to show mercy—albiet, a shadowed mercy—and Archibald’s trust in his heart-mate had diminished some. Turning her amber gaze away from his, Loretta sat obediently. Her strength was renewed as Lakota healed her, though her eyes rested warily on the Poisoner’s companion, thinking of the small white dragon and how it felt between her teeth. If Archibald shared her vocal chords, he would snarl at his bitch, instead, he reaches down to nip at her ear as Lakota stands. Enough. Block it. Take the memory and throw it away.

Quietly, the General meets eyes with Lakota, and he lowers his head to touch her shoulder thankfully, tail flicking behind his dark haunches. ”I’m done.” The Dauntless’ voice was but a mere whisper, meant for the Poisoner alone as Ktulu approached. Clearing his throat, the mammoth took a step towards the Chieftess. ”My injuries are naught—for it seems that the Earth God has returned to the world. Lakota has done her duty, worry not, or ruin yourself in vain.” Archibald snorted, though his intentions were not to be cruel, for his next statement would surely shatter something within the crimson princess. ”The Basin fell, defeated. Your uncle—Donovan—fell to his death by the grips of the Weyrleader, Mirage.” Circe trailed in, her blue eyes dark. Archibald’s brow furrowed, but he continued on. ”It was difficult to see all of the battles around me, but Artemis is the only one of my knowledge to emerge victorious. I fought with Lace, the glazier, and I was confident I had him down, but I—we—Loretta killed his dragon. The rage and sorrow he felt stirred his magic, exploding a ball of fire on me as well as roots shooting from the ground to overtake me. There was no way to recover from that and continue the battle, and we returned home. There are four warriors bringing your uncle back to you, Ktulu, for I did not see Paladin among the warriors. I know he was there, and I hope he did not see his brother fall at the hands of his leader.” Archibald looked at each of them in turn, waiting for responses, before he continued on. His molten, sun-colored eyes danced on Circe’s wounds, and he mentally reminded himself to ask later.

”I am tired of living in weakness. The Grey has shifted from mercenaries to fattened calves too comfortable within their land to do their duties. There is not fear of punishment, though the idea has wracked my mind endlessly. I am a warlord—my hooves have shed blood in every war of Helovia except one—and I will not live amongst rats any longer. As I stand here, I know you each feel it, the downward spiral that is us. Us four, we are the strong, the able, the dedicated.” Archibald stopped, moving closer to Circe. He turned his body to stand parallel to her, head raised high and his voice cold. He pressed his shoulder against her’s, drawing from her. ”I resign my position as General, and I am leaving the Grey—the Foothills. I cannot bear for my name to be written with those of feebleness any longer. You know me—all of you—and I command you not to take my decision as selfish vanity. My daughter died here, and I will not let that happen again. I believe there is strength elsewhere, living in the wilds. I spent most of Frostfall in the Wilds, scouting under your will Ktulu, and I discovered that I am stronger when not tied to the care of so many underneath my hooves. I am a warlord, but I wish not for armies and allies.” Archibald paused, letting his words sink into the mares’ minds. ”However, I invite you to come with me. My brothers have all fled, I have none but you,” He nodded towards Ktulu and Lakota before turning to press his muzzle against Circe’s neck, ”and as a family we could survive. Should you follow me, understand this—we are not an outcast group, we are family, raw and simple, unlike the Grey lies of family, and we will fight for no one but each other, forever and always.” With his words quieting into the moonlight, the Dauntless took several steps forward, Loretta bound to his heels, and his golden eyes flickered to Circe, a plea for her to follow him.