The Forest was a Better Choice.

Reignang had seen snow before, but never ice. Tarcans of the snowlands thought the blue sheen he was standing on beneficial. He couldn’t see how loosing your footing every fourth step was beneficial. Snow and small pieces of ice that fell from the dark clouds made dull tapping sounds when they hit his scales. The small divots between his scales were slowly being filled with the ice pelting him. Reignang looked back towards Frahlsa, at the ice and wind border. He could still faintly see the downward-swirling snowflakes through the gloom as if the water created from the melting snow was beckoning to him.

Come home, Reignang. Run not into the frozen plains. Come home!

Reignang blew air from his snout and watched the swirling white mist dissipate into the sparse snowflakes. Some of the powdery snow stuck to his side crumbled to the knee-high drifts when he turned back to the ice and scratched at it. Besides a couple small furrows and flecks of ice beside them, there was no change. It just wasn’t water.

Few of the southern territories used the North road and Reignang grumbled under his breath as he trudged across the frozen stream through the snow. Already the membrane that made up the sails he swam with was becoming less flexible. He worried over the slight crackling sound his sails were making as the rippled in the snow-filled breeze. All Reignang could smell was the cold, crisp snowfall – that and something he couldn’t quite place. It was cold, like the white cloth strewn around the landscape, yet it was difficult to catch in the breeze. Reignang kept his sense sharp as he followed the path of the slightly more shallow snow that marked the road’s boundaries.

****************************************************

The snowstorm had stopped, black clouds breaking up and cracks of blue sky appearing between them. Reignang, having waded through progressively deeper snow, looked up at the widening blue spaces and a weight lifted from his chest. He wouldn’t eventually end up feeling more warmth drain from his body as he pushed through drifts taller than himself. The crisp scent had fallen from the air and the heady smell of evergreens was beginning to fill Reignang’s snout. Looking around, he saw the dark shapes of the pines standing stolidly to the west.

Reignang had lost the strange, cold scent during the worst part of the storm. The skirling white flakes and frequently gusting wind had kept him preoccupied with staying warm. Now that there was no storm to obstruct his snout’s abilities, he inhaled deeply to try and catch the cold smell again. Snow-scent was nearly overwhelming and he could still pick up the evergreens to the west, but there was now a hint of some sort of rabbit – at least, it reminded him of rabbit – and what he assumed was the rabbit’s dung. No sign of the cold scent. At the thought of cold, Reignang shivered and stamped his feet to get the blood moving again. The longer he stayed in the snowlands and the colder he became, the more he would begin imagining small pieces of ice in his blood, slowing it down and making him quake with chill. Reignang had never thought of ice as threatening before now. He cursed himself for going north. He could just as easily have gone south, slip through the mountain passes, and lose himself on the fringes of Charlindrini’s breathtaking rainbow plains until he made it to Terilinus. The Terils would never hand him over – that would mean giving Charlindrini something that it wanted. Surely, Charlindrini would have been informed of his current wanted status.

A small plume of snow caught Reignang’s eye. I was as if something had collapsed beneath the snow. With all of the ridiculous frozen water lying about, Reignang wasn’t surprised that sometimes it collapsed a bit and packed down more tightly. He was contemplating ice collapsing onto ice that created stronger ice when snow erupted a couple tails to his left – the opposite side from where the plume had appeared. As if the soft whoosh of snow flying into the air had been a signal, five other similar eruptions went off all around him – two more to the left and three to the right.

When the first gout of snow went skyward like mist dashed against the prow of a lake-bound ship, Reignang jumped away and was hit by something that had launched itself from one of the positions to his right. Claws bit deep into his right shoulder and the smell of blood joined that of evergreens and the strange cold smell he had lost earlier. Reignang’s head whipped around and he snapped his jaws at whatever had hit him. He heard what sounded like trees groaning and cracking in a great wind and realized it was coming from the creatures. The claws in his shoulder retreated when Reignang tasted blood and he whirled to his left to make sure the others didn’t get a free shot at his left flank. He caught sight of three of the long, sleek, and viciously clawed beasts and opened his jaws wide.

Crisp water surged forth and past Reignang’s teeth. He twisted his head and the torrent crashed over the three beasts. Reversing direction, he hit the others on his right. Reignang shut his jaws as he simultaneously cut the flow from his essence, frost forming around his jaws as the remnants of his attack began freezing. He glanced around at the slim shapes recovering from the blast and shaking freezing water from the pristine fur on their backs and paddle-shaped tails. Their growls cracked in the chill air as they closed in a semicircle facing Reignang. I suppose it was too much to ask that it be cold enough to freeze them in place.

The smell of pure, clean water filled Reignang’s snout as he summoned his essence from within in him once more, this time shaping it into a flowing shield that swiftly slid across his scales. No part of him was left uncovered and his vision wavered as he now witnessed the scene through a watery pane. Seen from a distance, Reignang looked a Tarcan-shaped mass of swirling water. The cracking sounds of their approach were dulled by the water rushing over his ears. Reignang hoped he could maintain the shield for long enough in such cold weather. Already he could feel the temperature attempting to mar the shield’s efficacy.

The far left and right creatures lunged first. Twin splashes marked where the shield deflected their attacks simultaneously. Reignang shifted to the left and lashed out with a fore claw, gripping the beast in the side when his claws sank deep. He pulled back and a ragged tear appeared in its side, gushing crimson. It reeled away, an immense groaning call accompanying it.

A cacophony. The creatures’ cries rising in pitch.

When Reignang turned to the left, the next creature on the right wing of the semicircle plunged toward him, jaws wide. Clever beasts.

Reignang ducked and surged upwards at an angle to the creature, opening his jaws wide, the swirling water sheathing his head parting in a white-frothed rush. He connected with the underside of the beast’s neck and streamers of red colored the water shield in swift patterns as the creature emitted a snapping cough and collapsed. The spasming body launched clouds of snow into the air, much of it landing on Reignang’s shield like a slush coat of armor. He cursed as he felt the shield’s temperature take a sudden dive and its speed slow. Bracken snow!

A groaning call from the smallest of the pack sent the two remaining from the original formation forward at once. The small one followed behind them. The creature to the right was swinging around for another pass.

Reignang considered fabricating a wave to knock the front three back, but was afraid his essence would give out in the cold – he was beginning to have to struggle to hold his shield as it was. Instead, he leapt backward.

The two leading creatures gained mouthfuls of snow and Reignang threw himself forward onto their heads in an attempt to break their necks. He felt one snap, but only succeeded in leaving a gouge on the other’s neck. It turned and snapped at Reignang’s forearm at the same time the smaller one launched into his side, claws trying to rip and tear through the shield.

Teeth clamped down around Reignang’s right forearm. He could feel dozens of small puncture wounds blossom as the beast continually attempted to bite through the shield. His second attacker came claws first and his shield was not enough to stop them. It hit his flank with all four paws, over a dozen long, sharp claws lancing past his scales. More teeth found purchase as the creature clinging to his side began trying to bite his neck, the thrusts of its head forcing gaping wounds to open where its claws pushed for purchase.

Puffing air between his teeth, struggling against the exhaustion born of refusing to acknowledge pain, Reignang swung his head to the right and bit down on the neck of the beast that held his arm. As it died, its jaws locked and did not free his arm. Reignang grimaced. The creature on his side was scoring more hits as the shield weakened and Reignang nearly passed out as the shield’s flowing protection slowed, then stopped, and the first solid bite connected with his neck. He thrashed, unbalancing the clinging pest and twisted to the left to bite down on the ridge of its back, getting a mouthful of fur and blood. Reignang yanked it off of his body and watched it roll into the snow, its back an eerier mix of white and red.

The remaining unbloodied creature made a series of calls and looked from one of its downed pack members to the next and then looked to the smaller one Reignang has just thrown off. It made another series of loud snaps and then rushed off, following the blood trail from the creature Reignang had nearly disemboweled. The rest followed.

Reignang watched them go, making certain they didn’t mean to flank him again, then laid down in the small clearing their fight made in the snow. He lied there, staring at the jaws still clamped around his arm, eyes unfocused. It was difficult to think. At least the pain overshadowed the cold. A spasm in his arm brought his brought his blurring senses into focus for a moment – long enough for him to pry the jaws from around his arm using his hind feet and teeth.

To the deep with the snowlands! The forest was a much better choice. And from the forest, across the plains and into Terilinus. Yes, he could find some remote corner of the Terils’ territory and be forgotten for a few years. Then he would return.

The snow was entering his body through the slick streams of red running along his arms – or so it felt. He blearily looked at the dozen or more ragged gashes in his left shoulder. Gusting snow from a rogue breeze landed there and slowly soaked through with red.

Away from cold. Must get away.

He made to stand up, but Reignang’s forelegs were not acting like they should. A few minutes more of struggling and he stood on all fours, swaying slowly from side to side and squinting in an attempt to make out his tracks that had led him to this place. The edges of his vision were blurry – that was odd – and he glanced down at the blood-pocked ground, looking like a crimson lakescape. There were so many lakes.

Suddenly, Reignang felt like he was soaring over the lakes, floating above the white, powdery clouds and flying home. His sails were catching the wind and lifting him. With a twist of his fins he swooped to the right and then back to the left – always passing over the clouds. Eventually the lakes became empty of any liquid; they existed as empty bowls. From this distance, the bowls looked like some sort of immense footprints of some lost creature, one here, the next crooked sideways with gouges nearby as if the beast had almost fallen.

It was strange that the lakes behind him were filled with red water. Reignang felt that he was the bringer of life, imbuing the parched ground with life’s blood. He wondered where he was getting it and who chose him to perform such a task. Perhaps he chose himself. Such a case would not be peculiar, he chose himself for tasks regularly. He recalled that being part of why he couldn’t go home. Why was he flying home, then? Reignang turned east into a sunrise that had appeared on the horizon. A burning corona projected from the sun, topping the mountains in an indigo illusion. He could not go home, could not go South.

The clouds below him floated away in his wake and looming ahead was hard-packed ground, a scatter of mountains here and there. Reignang kicked at them and they bounded away into a deep hole. He no longer felt like a bringer of life, but a purveyor of death. More mountains plunged. Was this what the gods felt like? Reignang shook his head of foolishness. There were no gods. They were gone, imprisoned ages ago. Nature was sovereign, now, and Reignang assumed it would be that way for ages to come.

Shapes rose before him and he quaked and shied away, falling to Rizer. The mountains shrank as he fell and the dark hole loomed as if it meant to consume him. The shapes pursued.

“He ran north, did he?” One said as great black clouds appeared to either side of it.

“Looks like the North ran him out.” said another, this one with violet bands around his black clouds.

“Does it matter?” said a third. “The Eldresses wanted him and now here he is. Grab him.”

Reignang quailed inside his head and willed his body to fly away again, yet it would not respond. The shapes appeared watery now and Reignang was confused. He wasn’t maintaining his shield anymore. His head bounced against mountains and he ground trembled. The dark forms of the shapes expanded to fill his entire view.

A shape said, “Think Feseera will take the bait?”

One answered, “The river flows uphill, doesn’t it?

Hurricane

The Tarcans of Tamiran stopped. Plowing, hunting, playing—all activities stopped. They stared towards a mountain peak that rose above the town to the northwest. Its singularity made it an oddity. The range itself was miles more to the west of the peak. The locals called it Sular Peak while the Tribunal relegated it as a landmark for patrols.

Clouds, gradually shifting from cotton white to pitch black, began boiling towards the peak. Lorn looked around to gauge reactions. A few of the force, including Yeyter, hadn’t noticed anything. Typical. The others had seen the clouds as well and stared—as rapt as the locals. True, nothing like this had ever been seen before. The Storm itself behaved differently. The peak couldn’t possibly be one of their rest lairs. The Tribunal would have received word if it was. Two of the force had their attention focused on Gahrst. The brute himself wore a look of pure curiosity, head slightly tilted to the side, confirming Lorn’s belief that this was a new phenomenon. Gahrst had seen everything.

The messenger was perched on Lorn’s shoulders, the little flyer suddenly beginning to quake as it noticed the seething mass of clouds. Lorn still had no luck in getting rid of Dhire. He simply refused to leave. Lorn’s lips curved in the ghost of a grin, thinking that maybe Dhire would get too scared and fly away. Some of the locals were faring no better than Dhire. Lorn watched as a few Tarcans with faded scales crept towards their homes and elsewhere a Tarcan not much more than a hatchling drew its parents from their home to see. The elders pulled shutters closed.

Lorn stumbled and Dhire squawked when the world rocked on its foundation. The black clouds now resembled an immense hurricane, only where the calm eye should have been wasa funnel of clouds swirling towards the peak. When the darkness embraced the top of the peak, more clouds began racing down the funnel, yet none rolled further down the mountain—as if they were being absorbed into it, instead. The hurricane grew larger, now beginning to block the sun over Tamiran. Lorn heard crying somewhere distant in the town. The only sound among shocked silence. Every member of the force was paying attention, now. The world rumbled again. More Tarcans began moving towards their homes. Closing doors and a tinny voice broke the silence a second time.

“Mama, I want to see.” She nudged him towards the door. “Mama, no. Why can’t I watch?” She gently grabbed him by the back of the neck with her teeth and took him inside. Their door closed. Lorn looked back to Gahrst and saw the Leader’s angry resolve had returned. Gahrst turned to regard Lorn, his voice like two stones grinding past one another.

“Lorn, get the force together and follow. We’re checking it out.” He paced off. Lorn harried the others into order and followed.

They left the silence of Tamiran and headed north. At the town’s edge waited mates of those miners still at Sular. They watched the force pass and a few started to follow. A look from Gahrst made them stop and be content with watching the force continue. Tremors pulsed from the mountain at regular intervals now, like the world’s slow pulse. For most of the day they marched behind Gahrst toward the epicenter of the rumbling, the heart of darkness.

The mine’s entrance came into view at sunset; the squared timbers holding it open frayed like some ancient relic. A pallor of rainbow colors was cast over the peak—a torch thrust into an attic that clears away nothing and seems constrained by the dark. As they near Sular’s maw, a Tarcan burst from the darkness and sprinted away to the east. Gahrst turned to Lirel and Pheor.

“Go get her and find out what’s happening. Bring her and follow us.” They turned and sprinted after her. Lorn watched them go and slowly became aware of a new sound. The twisting funnel of clouds made a noise like a slow wind through a small canyon. Whistling. Dhire’s trembling grew worse and he worked his way up Lorn’s neck one spike at a time, until he could lower his head to Lorn’s ear. His voice squeaked, and trembled as badly as his body.

“Don’t go, Lorn. Don’t go in there.” Lorn nearly stopped in his tracks. The messengers only knew how to recite their names and mimic messages. No more. Or so Lorn had thought. He would have to tell Gahrst after the mission. Lorn kept his voice low.

“We go where the Leader tell us, messenger.”

Dhire took a quick glance at the mine before answering. “But … Don’t. Let Gahrst go in and take the others and leave,” and in a lower voice, “The clouds…so many.”

“What are you talking about?” Lorn hissed. “If you’re scared, fly home. You’ve done plenty enough.”

At the head of the group, Gahrst passed into darkness. Lorn could feel Dhire’s fidgeting intensify. As more of the force disappeared into the gloom, Dhire stammered out, “Y-you shouldn’t go. I-it c-can’t be hap-pen-ning,” and flew into the air. Lorn entered the mine.

The sound of the clouds whistling was muted within the confines of the mine, and Lorn’s nose was suddenly filled with the musty scent of stone, earth, and dust. There were faint sounds of fighting somewhere ahead. Gahrst took it upon himself to scout ahead—a sure sign of curiosity. Yeyter was following close at Gahrst’s orders and seemed to be checking the integrity of the support timbers. Deir was pacing behind Gahrst and Yeyter while the rest were still letting their darkvision focus, like Lorn. He resisted the urge to turn and see if Dhire was visible. Doing so would ruin his sight.

They continued down the tunnel, Lorn bringing up the rear, listening to the ever increasing volume of claws, teeth, and death screams. Each side tunnel the force passed was systematically checked to make sure nothing could sneak up on them. Every few paces Gahrst would slow and lower his snout as if he had picked up an important scent. As Lorn reached where Gahrst had started scenting, he picked up on what the Leader must have smelled. Blood.

Minutes later they reached what looked like a crude lobby. Two shafts, one to the left and one to the right, extended into darkness and a wide staircase was cut into the wall directly across from them. Gahrst signaled for them to split and search the shafts by wagging his tail from left to right. Lorn began to follow Illadan, Deir, and Uripel into the right shaft.

“Lorn, you stay.” Gahrst rumbled. Lorn loped over to stand before the Leader and shot a glance toward the staircase. The sounds of fighting were louder upu there. Gahrst noticed where Lorn’s attention was. “Go see what’s happening. Stay quiet and out of sight. It’s better if whatever is here doesn’t know we are.”

Lorn nodded. “Yes, Leader.” He walked to the stairs and started up. The stairs were wide, like most on Rizer, and held a slow curve to the right. Gahrst’s caution was in full swing and Lorn couldn’t figure out why. The strange clouds that could still be heard whistling, even over the sounds of fighting and dying, could be caused by any number of northwestern Mancers, and Charlindrini had long ago signed an agreement with Elegeer to stay out of one another’s business. Fighting of the sort Lorn was sneaking up on was also well known to Gahrst. He must have some knowledge of the essences that I don’t, Lorn decided as he caught sight of the last step around the bend.

A smashed cart, presumeably for hauling the common ores found in Sular, partially blocked the staircase—perfect cover for Lorn. He carefully slid up behind the wreckage and peeked around the broken slats. The sounds of battle he had listened to while climbing the stairs did the scene before his eyes little justice. Bodies lay scattered everywhere, some still slowly taking breath, yet losing the battle for life. Crimson stained most of the walls and pooled around the lifeless bodies. Across this new lobby stood a solid wooden building made from the same rough timbers as the support beams. There was where the battle still raged. Bloody Tarcans of a pallid shade of scales, almost 20 of them, some with dismembered limbs and others with throats ripped out, surrounded the structure, viciously pounding and tearing at the wood. Lorn fought the urge to return to Gahrst immediately. Those Tarcans could not be alive with such mortal wounds, yet there they were trying to break through the makeshift shutters and door of the building. Lorn could see a clawpick flash through a small opening in the shutters every so often.

Lorn withdrew and began his return trip down the stairs, attempting to steady his racing heart. Steeling his nerves came next. When he emerged into the lobby where he had left Gahrst he found the rest of the force back from their searches and assembled into order. Gahrst sat off to the left and looked at Lorn, waiting for the report.

“Leader, a band of Tarcankin, nearing 20 members, has some sort of station building surrounded and are trying to gain entry using tooth and claw. I’ve never seen kin like this before. They look like they shouldn’t be moving. Like they should be as dead as the bodies strewn about up there. I can’t understand it.” Lorn finished and sat down.

“There are kin trapped in the building?” Gahrst asked.

“I believe so. A paw holding a clawpick took a swipe at one of the strange kin.”

“How many?”

“I was only able to see the one attack. There are probably more holding the boards over the doorway and windows.”

Gahrst stood slowly and walked towards Lorn. “I’ll go first. The rest of you follow my lead. Lorn, you’re rearguard.” As the Leader passed he locked eyes with Lorn for a few moments before tensing his muscles and bolting onto the stairs, the others close behind. This was only the second battle Lorn would share with Gahrst and he had gotten that same loo right before the first one. He wondered what it meant as he leapt onto the wide steps and followed.

No times was wasted in engaging the pallid forms of the ravaged Tarcans. When Lorn rounded the last curve and passed the wrecked cart, he saw the mob had already turned to fight this new threat. A fresh body was twitching on the ground, its belly split open and internal organs spread around it. Gahrst was on the other side of the body, rearing up on his rear legs only to come crashing down, claws first, onto the head and neck of one of the Ravaged. It crumpled, its neck broken clean through. The rest of the force was getting into the fray now. Illadan, Yeyter, and Deir held their small line to the right of Gahrst while Uripel, Terrin, Aderan, and Rhetgin held the left. As rearguard it became Lorn’s job to air any failing points in the line.

Upon crushing the head of one Ravaged, Gahrst spun, whipping his tail around to thump into the side of another Ravaged’s head, snapping its neck around. Deir shrieked. Lorn turned and saw Deir’s jaws retreating from the base of a Ravaged’s tail. Not a drop of blood dripped from his jaws—it seemed the blood was being absorbed into Deir. He shrieked again—a feral scream—and suddenly launched himself at Yeyter’s right side. Lorn’s eyes widened and he lunged to intercept. He collided with Deir on mid-leap, knocking him back, and then slashed at Deir’s throat, ripping it open. Deir collapsed, clutching at his throat, making gurgling noises occasionally punctuated by a death scream. Lorn turned to Gahrst, who batted aside an attacking Ravaged and locked eyes with Lorn for a second. Garhst shouted, the sound a landslide over the sounds of killing.

“Claws and tails only!”

Lorn felt claws rake down his right flank and blood flow across his scales. He turned wide eyes to his attacker and lashed out. Flowing lines appeared over the Ravaged’s eyes once Lorn’s claws passed. He felt he could almost see the infection in its flesh. It reeled away.

“Claws and tails only!” Lorn shouted, snapping himself back to the moment. Getting lost during the moment of battle is a quick path to death.

The second shout following so quickly after the first cause a few of the force’s heads to turn. In that instant, the Ravaged pressed the line and blood sprayed. Uripel went down, a hole in his throat. Uripel’s rear legs spasmed and kicked a Ravaged’s legs out from under it, saving Terrin from a bite to the back of the head. The line began to fall back, pressed on all sides. Aderan took a blow to his left foreleg, hampering his ability to fall back. Two of the Ravaged jumped him. Terrin, without Aderan as a rightguard, began taking hits all over his body, the lacerations beginning to take their toll. Before his movements slowed from blood loss, Terrin launched himself into the remaining Ravaged. His lunge threw one against the wooden building, breaking its back. Two others fell to his claws and teeth before he, too, collapsed.

Gahrst rammed one and sent it crashing into the building beside Terrin’s victim. He spun, disemboweling another with his rear claws. When Gahrst’s back turned a Ravaged lunged, but Rhetgin jumped in between and had his belly torn open. Gahrst spun back to help him.

Lorn had watched Yeyter make his first kill and fell back under another assault. He ducked beneath a blow and moved to the side and spinning, slammed the Ravaged’s chest with his tail and then reversed the spin to hit it in the chest again, crushing its sternum. Two of the remaining Ravaged advanced towards. Lorn began a guarded retreat, keeping an eye on Yeyter to his left and making sure his two attackers didn’t change targets.

Further down what remained of their line, Gahrst gave Rhetgin mercy. A couple of the Ravaged took advantage and dove for Gahrst’s exposed flank. To Gahrst’s right, Illadan saw the attack and broke the line to cut one of the interlopers out of the air. He dug claws into its left leg and pulled it to the ground while being pulled to the ground himself. The other attacker scored a glancing hit on Gahrst, its teeth pulling a flap of flesh and scales from his body, then promptly felt Gahrst’s claws tear into its body, puncturing vital organs. It tried backing off, but Gahrst pressed the attack. Meanwhile, Illadan had been pounced upon by a second Ravaged while the one he grabbed turned to snap at him. Panicked, Illadan snapped back, nipping flesh from its snout and felt the other one bite into his side. He turned to snap at the second one and felt a wound open across his shoulder where he had turned from the first. Illadan went into a frenzy. He twisted, lightning quick, and clamped his jaws around the first one’s neck and pulled the entire Ravaged to the ground in front of him. The second Ravaged went to bite him again, but Illadan leaped from the ground, grabbed the lower jaw of the Ravaged within his own, and jerked the creature across its downed kin, tripping it. He let go and killed it with a bite to the throat, then turned to the slow-moving first Ravaged and finished it. No blood dripped from his jaws. Illadan, frenzied, bloodied, and possessed, launched himself at Gahrst, snapping rabidly at the Leader’s head. Gahrst reared back and caught Illadan, letting his claws sink in and get a good grip. Illadan’s back broke when Gahrst propelled him into the mine wall.

When Illadan had leapt to help Gahrst, Yeyter sacrificed his life by taking down a Ravaged that went for Illadan’s back and then becoming locked in a tussle with another Ravaged that attacked him. Each killed the other.

Lorn witnessed Yeyter’s fall and feinted back to finally draw on his attackers. When the Ravaged came forward, so did Lorn, and he surged between the two with claws out, drawing deep wounds down both of their sides while feeling patches of scales torn away from his tail as he passed. He stumbled under the pain. Recovering quickly, he spun around, knocking one into the other before they could fully turn around. They fell to the ground and never got a chance to get back up.

The fight was over. Sounds of wood falling to the dirt filled the air for a moment. The miners, eleven of them, were lowering their barricades and taking in the battlefield. Most had cuts of varying severity and all had mining claws handy. Gahrst’s breathing was heavy as he walked past Lorn to finish the Ravaged the former had blinded. The scars criss-crossing Gahrst’s chest seemed to stand out to Lorn. They stretched taut with each of the Leader’s breaths, testaments to other battles—other losses. Lorn received a cold look from the Leader when he returned.

As Gahrst passed he said, “Arrange the bodies.” Lorn almost thought he heard cracks in the stone of Gahrst’s voice.

Lorn arranged the bodies while Gahrst talked to the miners. Deir, Uripel, Aderan, Terrin, Rhetgin, Illadan, Yeyter. He laid them out in a line, each parallel with the others, tails straight behind them and heads lowered, resting on crossed forelegs. Lorn had been separate from the casualties after his other encounters. The Leaders had always arranged the bodies and oversaw the transportation of the dead to the godsyard. He didn’t know what to think—or feel, for that matter. He was never particularly close to any of them, probably due to his position as second-in-command—Subleader. He was not sure he liked the responsibility, anymore.

Gahrst came over with the miner following. It occurred to Lorn that he had never seen anyone walk with Gahrst. They always followed. Gahrst’s wounds had been patched and the loose flap of flesh was held to his body with bone needles to help the healing process. The Leader told two of the miners to fix Lorn and the others went straight to the bodies and began carrying them out, down the stairs. Gahrst avoided Lorn’s eyes. Lorn watched the makeshift death procession as he was being worked on. He ignored the twinges of pain.

Once the miners had Lorn’s cuts patched up as well as they could manage, he pushed thoughts of death from his mind and refocused on his current situation. He and Gahrst were the only ones left and they had no clue if Lirel and Pheor had caught that female and would be rejoining them. Another significant group of Ravaged would be more than enough to finish them. Lorn stood and began pacing around, inspecting the tracks of the Ravaged to see where they had come from. The exercise also helped keep his muscles from cramping.

Gahrst walked over and sat down near where Lorn was pacing. “They came from the northwest shaft,” he rumbled. “That’s where the next staircase up is located. The miners claim all other mineshafts are clear, that the undead kin we killed were the only ones.”

“Did they say where the Ravaged came from?” Lorn asked.

“Ravaged?”

“The undead kin.”

Gahrst nodded slightly to himself. “They say there was originally only one, and after watching the fighting they added that it must’ve been contact with their blood that possessed more.” He glanced at Lorn.

Lorn ceased pacing and looked to the staircase for a moment, then said, “So as long as we don’t bite them or lick our claws, we will be fine.”

“If we see any mire, yes.” Gahrst agreed.

Lorn turned to look at Gahrst. “Will we wait for Lirel and Pheor?” He would feel better knowing the two seasoned fighters were around.

“No, we shouldn’t encounter anything else until the higher chambers. We’ll see what happens, then.”

“What’s going on, Leader?”

Gahrst’s eyes took on a distant look, then quickly returned to the in-control gaze Lorn was familiar with. “I’ve told you more than enough, Subleader.” The Leader turned and went to stand in front of the remaining miners. Lorn tried to listen in but could discern nothing but the vague rumbling of Gahrst. It was when Lorn’s ears were primed for eavesdropping that he finally noticed the whistling of the clouds outside coule be faintly heard, even here. Odd. Even the sounds of fighting and dying had been greatly diminished just by the many twists of the mineshafts, let alone the entire mountain. Lorn shook his head and went to wait beside the northwest shaft for Gahrst.

The miners left, hurrying back to Tamircan and their mates and the edge of town, and Gahrst turned and walked past Lorn, into the shaft. “Let’s go.”

They went only a dozen or so tails until a stairwell opened to the right and more mineshafts extended to the left. The staircase was as curved as the first, yet the feeling of it seemed different. The scent of blood was finally fading—of which Lorn was glad to be rid of—and the musty smell of earth was returning. As they neared the top, though, Lorn’s darkvision began wavering at the edges. It was as if all the darkness that Lorn’s eyes dispelled was beginning to gather at the far range of his vision, further obscuring the passage ahead. As the darkness encroached, the slow whistling grew louder.

Just like the miners said, the thired floor held nothing but timbers, stone, and dust. Lorn tried to not think of the whistling and problem with his sight. They found the next stairwell and started up. The darkness got worse the higher they went. Lorn’s darkvision edged in towards him, the dark itself like a thick mist that boiled on the edge of sight. The mountain must really be absorbing the funnel clouds. He wondered where Dhire was.

Neither Gahrst nor lorn said a word for the entire trek across the third floor and up the staircase to the fourth. The tension was palpable. Gahrst broke the silence when the cloud mist pressed closer on the fourth level. Lorn suspected the Leader was as nervous as himself.

“I had to kill Illadan.” He said without turning around or slowing. His voice was hard as granite.

Lorn took a deep breath to steady his heart. “I killed Deir.”

Silence stretched for a few moments while Lorn stared at the ground in front of him. He thought he heard the wind picking up outside, the clouds’ whistling gaining speed. Gahrst spoke again.

“We all bear scars for our soldiers.”

Lorn brought his head up and stared at Gahrst’s back. Where are yours, Oh Great Leader? “Do they ever heal?”

“They don’t. Remember that before you remember anything else.” He paused, and then said, “Protect them to protect yourself.”

As little emotion as Gahrst showed, Lorn didn’t think the Leader needed protection from anything. He didn’t even hesitate in killing Illadan or surveying the slaughter afterwards. Lorn suppressed a sigh and lowered his gaze to the small holes Gahrst’s claws dug into the ground as he walked.

Lorn was snapped out of his reverie as the whistling suddenly intensified and the cloud mist began pulsing. Gahrst looked back urgently. “Hurry.” He took off down the corridor. Lorn followed close on his tail. They found another staircase and threw themselves up as fast as they could manage. The fifth floor wound up being a circular passage the wound around a central chamber with the mineshafts extending out from outward side of the shaft. The cloud mist’s pulsing grew faster and it rushed pass them—at times it seemed through them—and then into the wall on their left. It was a storm off a whistling scream and a pulsing beat that stopped as suddenly as it had started. There was quiet for the first time in hours. The mist was gone from the passage and Gahrst slowed his pace as they neared a larger archway on their left.

Gahrst stopped at the edge of the entrance. He looked back at Lorn and said, “If it returns, run. Don’t wait for me. Don’t fight it. Run. Get word to the Tribunal and Charlindrini.” He entered the chamber before Lorn could ask what he was talking about. What is it?

The quiet was absolute as they surveyed the room. Lorn was terrified. There was a Tarcan with its back to them, black mist steaming from its body. There was not just, just cold. The Tarcan was lying before an immense stone door with ancient symbols cut into it. Lorn recognized none of them. About four tails taller than Lorn, the door was limned with a black gleam that reminded him of obsidian—one of the rare stones from Firdan. When they came to a stop, the Tarcan turned to regard them with steaming eyes that had turned black, pupils red.

It spoke, voice leaving its maw after its jaws had already framed each word, as if there was a delay between it speaking and Lorn hearing. “Stay back, kin. The time of return has been long planned and the Sealing shall be undone. The Darkness would spare all Tarcans. Stay back.” Lorn was stunned. The Sealing Ware was what had done away with the gods and birthed the essences. How could the gods be Unsealed? As far as Lorn knew, there was no recorded text that even so much as mentioned a method of Unsealing. Or so he had been taught at the Tribune.

Gahrst took a step forward. “Rizer has achieved a balance, the gods cannot be Unsealed.”

The Tarcan grinned. “Not gods. God. The Darkness is returning.”

“The balance will be upset, Shaman, even you should see that,” Gahrst said.

“You misunderstand the three powers, kin.” With that, he turned his back to Gahrst and Lorn. Gahrst lunged forward. The steaming mist erupted from the Shaman and Gahrst was thrown backwards. His head collided with a rock and he didn’t move. Lorn kept his footing, but was pushed backwards a couple tails. His claws left deep furrows in the floor. Lorn couldn’t move, his eyes transfixed on the spectacle unfolding.

The mist formed into dozens of tendrils extending from the Shaman’s body and they all lanced towards the door, each making contact with one of the symbols etched there. Dust sifted from the ceiling as the room began to shake and rumble. The obsidian hue around the door grew brighter like the black glass was being heat white hot. Color was returning to the Shaman and as the mist left him, Lorn recognized the subtly different scale patterns of a Teril. Lorn growled deep in his throat and ran forward, stopping dead in his tracks as the door began swinging open and something slowly reached out.

A hand as black as pitch and vaguely reminiscent of a Tarcan’s grasped each of the doors as they swung out. A head soon followed, also Tarcanlike. The deity roared, the sound a thousand claws on bone and the deep reverberations of power confined for Ages combined. Darkness welled behind it, almost seething through the door. As the painfully bright gleam around the door vanished, the unsealed god roared again and regarded the Shaman. The Teril nodded and ran past Lorn and into the corridor, disappearing from sight.

Lorn glanced at Gahrst’s body and then back at the deity. He could’ve sworn it grinned. Lorn began backpedaling furiously and saw the god begin to move forward. It reached out and touched Lorn, then allowed itself to flow through Lorn’s body. He heard the sound of rock breaking and collapsing and thought he smelled crisp night air before falling to the ground, body and limbs twitching.

Meet Treaus

Wind caroused through the crags and crevasses of the canyon, keening a tune that drew Treaus closer to the edge. The sun was still rising towards it’s zenith on his left forcing him to squint out of that eye. The canyon before him was half a league wide and many times as deep. The river at the bottom, always frothing white, was only a pale line, as if drawn with fine chalk, from this height. His teeth flashed in a grin as he turned back to face Tayun, Flystaff, and Aerol. Flystaff returned the grin then lifted his snout to the breeze and took in the amalgamation of crisp northern winds and warm canyon breezes that dominated the North Edge.

“Perfect day for this, Treaus.” He said as his gaze lowered to settle on the daredevil once again. The muscles in Flystaff’s haunches were beginning to twitch – a sure sign that he was getting anxious.

Aerol glanced at Flystaff then fixed his gaze on the canyon edge as he began walking toward it. “Just be careful this time, Treaus,” he said. “It took your leg months to heal last time because the Elders refused to heal you and while I know Trayun waited on you knees and tail…” he snuck a sly glance at the younger female as he trailed off.

“I did not, Aerol!” she squeaked, her shrill voice unveiling the lie.

“…but Flystaff and me – we were stuck in the ducts repairing a breach. Punishment for not being your common sense, I’m told.” Aerol was standing at the edge and was staring straight down the broke cliff-face.

“He’s right, Treaus,” Flystaff said, hesitating as he stepped forward to crane his neck higher so he could barely see over the rim of the canyon. He closed his eyes and took an easy step back. “You cannot mess up this time,” he said, opening his eyes again.

Treaus snorted and fully extended his wings, nodding when he felt the tendons stretching. “That was too easy last time,” he said. “This stunt will test my skills more, so it should be easier for me to focus. Besides,“ he continued, “that’s why Trayun’s here, this time. I knew sooner or later her training with the Elders would be useful.” Treaus lowered his head while he continued flexing his wings and risked a glance at Trayun.

Her eyes were wide and glistening in the sun’s warm rays. “That’s the reason you asked me to come? I thought…” She turned her head away, wings lowering, tips touching the hard-packed dirt, and started to walk towards the capestone where the canyon’s winds would lift her up and away and back towards Lhrisfan. Treaus sighed, watching her start to walk away. He looked to Aerol and Flystaff, the latter of which was still watching her go. Aerol jerked his head toward Treaus’ sister just as Flystaff looked back and stared at Treaus himself, his leg twitches subsiding.

Treaus rolled his eyes before pursuing. “Trayun…wait.” He jogged a few steps then flapped his broad wings to speed him along. Another wing-assisted boost and he was a tail ahead of his sister and turning broadside to block her path, folding his wings together against his back. “Look, I didn’t mean it that way, you know I didn’t.” he said, raising his head above hers to assert familial dominance. “If you were not here, I’d be stuck with those two,” Treaus gestured towards his friends a handful of tails away, “and you know how I’d be held up with Aerol’s constant suggestions and Flystaff’s overexcitement. Besides, how great would you feel if you got to save me after my newest stunt?” He grinned and lowered his head, evening the playing field.

Trayun turned her head to the side and pulled her wings up tight beside her body, all prim and proper. “Do not try to sweet talk me, Brother. The only reason you want me back is so Mother doesn’t get a chance to question where I have been.” She faced him again and arched her neck in what Treaus knew to be preparation for one of her trademark bobs. “You know,” the head bobbed towards him and back into the arch shape, “that she would come here and stop you.”

“Yeah, yeah, but if you’re here, we won’t have to worry about that, will we? You know that she wouldn’t like that you had intended on helping me before coming home. You leaving is lose-lose, Sister.”

She tilted her chin up and started walking around him. “I’m still going!” She huffed as she passed.

“Fine, what do you want?” He said, keeping pace with her on her left. Treaus knew his sister could rarely turn down getting something from him but he never liked giving her an inch. This worked best as a last resort.

“I want you to admit you’re scared,” she said without hesitation, opening an eye to peek at him. “Admit that you want me here in case you do get hurt, and I’ll come back.”

“Ha!, Me? Scared? I’ve done stunts before without you around. What makes you thi-“

“Treaus, admit it,” she said, cutting him off.

“I was only in that splint for two mon-“

“Treaus.”

“Yeah, fine. I’m scared. Not a lot, though,” he added, not meeting her eyes. “It’s better if you’re here, just in case.”

She turned around without saying a word, puffs of dust from her sudden turn flowing out into the canyon. Treaus paced her again, unfurling his wings and stretching them again in preparation. As they neared Flystaff and Aerol, Treaus called out, “My wings are ready! How’s the wind?”

A grin split Flystaff’s snout as he raised his nose to the breezes again and Aerol, looking down into the canyon once more, lifted his head to turn and look at the brother and sister. “It’s coming straight up the cliff wall. You should make sure you try to get at least four tails out on your jump before aiming down. Probably less of a chance of hitting the cliff that way.” He said, glancing at Flystaff and shaking his head after doing so.

Trayun giggled lightly and Treaus smirked, whispering, “Told you so,” to her so the other Tarcans wouldn’t hear. To Aerol, he said, “Good thing you’re my friend, Aerol, helps keep me in one piece. You should do it with me, though. More impressive with two. Hey, we could go one over the other while going down the cliff wall.”

“Hah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You would end up ahead and say I lagged. I’d rather watch, thank you.” Aerol paused for a moment, looked over the rift’s edge a final time. “You’re a crazy fool, you know that, right?” he said as he moved away from the edge and stood across from Flystaff, who was watching the edge warily. He made sure to leave a couple tails of space between Flystaff and himself to give Treaus a running start.

Treaus laughed. “Am I the only one in this canyon that wants to learn how to maneuver in it?”

“I’m sure you’re the only one doing it a couple tails from the cliffs,” Aerol said wryly. Treaus simply smiled back, his pointed, pale teeth contrasting with the darker scales on the upper part of his snout, and made his way to the end of the makeshift runway fashioned by the bodies of his friends and sister.

“Just make sure you guys get into the air as soon as soon as possible. Wouldn’t want to miss this!” Treaus spread his wings, stretching them one last time, and scraped his hind claws into the hard ground, bracing himself to make sure he got a quick start and was running top speed before jumping. He looked up and judged the distance to the edge to be about 14 tails, pulled his wings tight against his body to reduce resistance when he jumped into the canyon’s gusts, and began his sprint.

When Treaus blew past his watchers, they began running towards the edge, too, Flystaff bringing up the rear. Five full strides later, Treaus leapt from the rift’s rim at top speed, immediately feeling the rush of wind bursting from the canyon’s depths and taking in the dusty smell of the rock walls carried in those bursts. Without looking to see if his friends had followed, he steeled his resolve against just opening his wings now and coasting across the canyon, which was tempting now that he was actually doing the stunt, and looked down. The power of the wind blowing from deeper in the canyon was enough to push the rest of Treaus’ body behind him, lining up his body, head to tail, as straight as his muscles could hold in the onslaught. The sound of rushing wind was muted, Treaus blocking out the sound as he plummeted, straight as an arrow, towards the pale line far below. Once he was satisfied that he could hold himself straight in such a difficult dive, Treaus carefully opened his wings, allowing the wind to push him closer to rock wall beneath him. With his sharp vision, Treaus began picking out crags of rock that were in his path. He intended to play a game as he dived.

Suddenly, the light from the sun failed, the canyon’s edge blocking it. The lack of sun made it easier for Treaus to focus; squinting no longer being a part of the game. He picked his first rocky target and as he quickly rushed downward. The muddy colored rock rapidly grew larger as the daredevil pressed his luck. At the last moment he tipped the leading edges of his wings out and let the wind rip him out of the way of the rocky projection, his clawtips snapping off of the edge. Having felt his claws clip the stone, he quickly pushed down and launched himself away from the cliff wall beneath him, immediately tipping his wingtips down and letting the rushing force of wind push him back towards the cliff. He chose another crag and launched himself off of it, starting a dangerous game of launching himself from outcropping to outcropping, making it look as if he was a flat stone skipping across the rock face.

His friends spiraled down in his wake, Flystaff laughing in exhilaration, pretending he was in Treaus’ place, Aerol staring in disbelief, and Trayun tucking her wings closer, ending her spiral and beginning to dive. If she was to be there in case something happened, she wanted to actually be close enough to help. The other two followed her example, Flystaff still laughing.

Meanwhile, the river in the canyon’s bowels was more than just a barely visible white line, now. The sound of rushing water was faintly audible to Treaus and he could now make out the thrashing of water against stones. His tail flicked back and forth rapidly as he launched himself from another large stone, his legs beginning to tire of pushing off of a new rock every couple seconds. The rush of water was louder now, and Treaus’ nose could pick up the fresh tang of mist beginning to faintly cloud the air. He decided on one more launch before pulling out and stretched his neck down to heighten the final rush, his pounding heart screaming at how amazing the dive was.

As he came upon the last crag, he caught sight of one of his friends diving down and lost his focus for a short moment. In that moment, his front claws nicked the rock too hard and when Treaus mistakenly looked towards his feet in confusion the wind caught the back of his head and forced it down, throwing him into a forward roll. His wings thrown back by the rolls momentum and useless for the moment, all Treaus could do was continually try to get his bearings and throw his weight to try and balance himself enough to open his wings and stop his fall. The mist was thickening around him as he fell and the edges of panic crept into Treaus’ mind.

Aerol, Flystaff, and Trayun watched as Treaus shot downward towards the river, hoping he would soon pull out. Trayun was already steepening her dive, just in case. She watched as her brother suddenly began a forward roll, losing all control of his wings. She heard Flystaff cry out above her and saw Aerol blow past her right wing in a dive. Moments later, Flystaff passed on her left. Trayun was already in her steepest dive and could gain no more speed from the wind. She would have to hope Aerol and Flystaff could reach him in time.

While she watched Flystaff and Aerol converge on Treaus, her brother’s roll was ended when his back clipped an outcropping of rock, knocking him further from the cliffside but giving him the second of balance he needed to spread his wings and try to pull out of the dive.

Treaus could hear the tendons in his wings pulling as he fought to pull out of the dive, his wings filled with wind and the muscles in his shoulders straining to pull him upright. While he was struggling with the wind, Treaus saw Aerol come out of nowhere and tap him at the base of the tail. The force of Aerol’s passing was enough to tip the balance in favor of Treaus’ beleaguered wings and allowed the Tarcan to end his descent and now glide parallel to the loud, frothing river that was only 30 tails below. The mist was thick this far down and the airborne water helped soothe Treaus’ parched throat as he glided, exhilarated, downriver. He tipped his wings up and flew to where his friends glided, a few tails above him, sister included.

“You’re hurt!” His sister yelled over the sound of the roiling water below them. Treaus could only faintly feel the burning pain of the long cut that ran between his wings and partway down his back. The rush of his fall numbed him to anything but glee.

“Haha! We can worry about that later, Sister!” He shouted back. “I did it! Did you see? Aerol? Flystaff?”

Flystaff glided closer to Treaus, a wide grin on his face, teeth dripping water into the back of his throat from the mist condensing on them. “Oh, we saw, you snake-blighted fool! That was amazing!” Flystaff tipped his left wing down and right wing up, starting a spin. As his legs passed Treaus, Flystaff kicked out and knocked Treaus to the side, both of them laughing now. Aerol shook his head and grinned at the good-natured shove, a byproduct of the incredible rush imbued by the sheer amount of wind that ran over all of their bodies on the way down.

The four Tarcans sailed through the mist at the bottom of the rift, flapping occasionally, and grinning like idiots all the way back to Lhrisfan.

Rescue

Dhire’s wings were aching. After three hours of incessant flapping, the Nacertas was ready to look for a comfortable rookery for the next few hours. The flight from Azhel wasn’t difficult, but as the land curved up towards the horizon, the temperature began to drop to a threatening level. The bulging sack hanging from a cord tied around his torso wasn’t helping, either. Dhire was forced to fly below the clouds and forsake the warm rays of the sun above them or else risk missing the cave entrance. The higher the land went, the darker the clouds got and the colder the air became. Another league of flight found Dhire struggling with the dying visibility of a snowstorm. His sharp eyes blinked rapidly to keep the snow from them as he flew lower yet and scanned the rough, white lined boulders below.

Maybe he waited, Dhire thought. Lorn’s not entirely devoid of sense. He stopped searching the ground for a moment and shook his head. Of course he’s devoid of sense! I asked him to wait while I checked out a lead on the Ice Tear, but of course he’d go into the temple before I get back. Dhire’s wings picked up their pace in a final boost of energy. He had to find Lorn.

Minutes later, Dhire found what he was looking for – a long scar in the side of an ice-crusted cliff a league or so south of the temple’s main entrance. Navigating the increasing winds, Dhire slipped through the crevasse and landed, beginning a mad half hopping, half flapping gait across the slick rocks to right and left. The passage curved straight down into the cliff side and eventually came out somewhere inside the temple. At least it won’t be hard finding Lorn once I’m in, he thought, with a wry twist to his lips. Just follow the trail of broken ice or bodies… possibly both in this place.

The deeper Dhire went, the more he appreciated the downy fur running down his neck and across his back. He had to slow down every so often to make sure the Tear he carried wasn’t dashed against any of the protrusions of rock lining the crevasse walls. The longer his trip took, the more Dhire began hoping this shaft did eventually come out inside the temple. If it didn’t, he would be forced to make his way back outside and go around the long way. “Hah, right, “ he laughed to himself, “the long way. Make sure I don’t take the long way.”

A sudden, dull grinding sound brought the little flyer to a halt to listen. The silence stretched interminably as he tilted his head from side to side trying to catch a repeat of the grinding noise. While his head was tilted to the right, convinced he heard the faint sound of thudding somewhere below, a blast of hot air threw Dhire back the way he came as the cave trembled and shook, small stones and dust trickling down the rocky walls. A moment of tense silence passed, and then an ear-shattering cry rolled through the Nacertas as quickly as the sickening crunch that came after cut it off. The shaking only lasted a moment more and the chilly air was already wafting back in to replace that sudden gout of heat. Shaking his head to get the dust off, Dhire peered through the gloom, his enhanced vision limning everything with a blue haze. The passage seemed lighter up ahead. Dhire clambered to his feet and hurried down the tunnel, his tiny claws leaving minute scratches in the rock.

When he rounded the next switch-back, the ever-increasing light flooded the cave. Dhire stood at the edge of a tails-wide crater in the ceiling of an immense chamber. Dozens of tails below him a mass of shattered stalactites had impaled some sort of giant creature on a field on glimmering ice. From his vantage point, it looked as if a rock was thrown through the ice of a frozen lake. All around the lake were thousands of ice stalagmites stretching in every direction. Dhire was suddenly glad he had wings. Char on the edges of the ceiling crater caught Dhire’s attention next, the crisp scent of the cave trying to hide the tang of burnt rock. Lorn! Where….?

Dhire scanned the lake again and this time saw the trail of broken ice that pointed the way to a figure, limbs, neck, and tail tip flickering weakly with flame, pinned to a wall comprised of the ice stalagmites. “Lorn!” Dhire cried out as he leapt into the air and frantically flapped down to his pinned friend. The closer he flew, the worse the situation became. His friend had spears of ice impaling him at the base of the tail and left shoulder and his head was hanging limping on his chest. When he got close enough to notice the pale blue hue of Lorn’s scales, the flames signaling Lorn’s fire essence blinked out and Dhire knew fear.

Landing on the spear through Lorn’s shoulder, Dhire started yelling. “Wake up, Lorn! Move!” He slid along the ice spear until he was close enough to Lorn’s body to reach his face. “Change back to fire, you fool! We need the heat!” Dhire pushed Lorn’s head and watched as it simply slide back to rest an inch or two from it started. “Move an arm, Lorn! Blink! Gods!” Trembling, Dhire hopped onto Lorn’s shoulder and dug his claws under the scales of Lorn’s neck and pulled, trying to get him to lift his head. “Open your eyes, stubborn fool!”

He managed to pull Lorn’s neck up far enough to wrap his little arms around it and grab for another scale-hold when the Ice Tear pulsed against its sack, thoroughly startling the already tense flyer. Dhire held on to Lorn’s neck for dear life while he watched the sack’s tan color fade as vibrant blue bled through the fabric. The Tear pulsed again, then again moments later, and Dhire felt his arms lock position as his eyes closed involuntarily due to an overwhelming feel of comfort and ease that washed through his body. The brilliant blue light grew in intensity until Dhire and his unconscious companion could not be seen through the pulsing color of the Tear.

As quickly as the halo expanded, it now began to contract as finger-thin wisps of light struck Lorn’s body and disappeared inside. The ice spears in Lorn’s shoulder and tail looked as if they were being drawn into his body as well and the blue tint to his scales was receding towards the puckered wounds the ice spears left. At the same time, icicles were sprouting from Lorn’s head, back and tail. They seemed to flow up from Lorn’s scales; water running up to then solidify at the tip of the point. When the ice spears holding Lorn to the wall lost their grip, Lorn’s transforming body, Dhire attached at the neck, dropped to the slick floor in a heap, the growing ice on his back nearly propping him up on his side.

The transformation complete and the blue halo gone, Dhire’s claws slipped from their hold and he opened his eyes, the world swirling before them. He went to hop down to the floor but tripped over his own feet and tumbled down instead, smacking his head off of the cold ice. Dazed yet again, Dhire stayed on all fours and stared at his reflection in the floor until the world stopped spinning. His world stable again, Dhire went to push back onto his feet but was again knocked forward. He scrabbled on the ice for a moment before catching himself and turning his head, a glare firmly fixed on his face. There was Lorn, puncture wounds now tender scars, eyes closed, finishing the tilt onto his belly and curling his head and tail towards his stomach on his left side. Lorn’s eyes were flashing back and forth beneath his eyelids and Dhire could see the forest of ice on his back expand and clatter together with every breath Lorn took.

Smiling to himself, Dhire pulled the Tear’s sack against him and walked towards Lorn. He managed to avoid sticking himself with Lorn’s new attire and found a comfortable nook between Lorn’s neck and body where he, too, curled up and closed his eyes, the Tear’s sack shielding him from the frigid air. No harm in letting him get a little strength back before we leave.