Edel's face was cast in macabre shadows that made her features to angular. Her mouth was stretched open in a horrifying "o" and her screams echoed through the glass cage she shared with Rikki. He was trying his hardest to get to her, but no matter how much effort he put into moving he couldn't get to her. All around him his teammates screams started up in a terrifying chorus that made his hair stand up on end, but he couldn't see them; only Edel.

He heard maniacal laughter somewhere in the shadows that he knew to be the hunters watching their struggles, but he couldn't pay them much attention because Edel's features were stretching and mutating. She bent backwards in an impossible arc and her screams morphed until they were unrecognizable and before his eyes she turned into a lifeless, cold spear. Not Edel cold. Death cold. Just as her screams died off, so did the others, and there was a second of pure silence, and then a blinding light exploded from his chest.

Rikki woke up screaming in his bed, the center of his chest searing with pain. It took him long minutes and deep, shuddering breaths to finally calm down, and even then he had to chant to himself. It hadn't happened like that. He hadn't seen Edel mutate like that. It hadn't been real. He was alive. Edel was alive. Roch was alive. Moure was alive. Aksaja was alive. It was okay.

He was still sweating and shaking in the middle of his bed when he deemed himself able to stand and walk to the bathroom. The chilly floor against his bare feet served to stabilize him in the present even more and he was grateful for it. He stumbled slowly to the bathroom and into his shower, where he let cool water wash over his back as he pressed his forehead to the tile. His team had been one of three to win. The medal was sitting on his shelf as proof. But he didn't feel like he'd won anything. He felt like he'd been punished for something he didn't understand. Like somehow, this wasn't something to celebrate. And it wasn't. Once again, he'd seen his friends die. How many times did he have to lose them before he realized one day he wouldn't get them back?

He shuddered as the water started to warm up and quickly ducked out of the spray before it could reach hot. His chest still ached dully, and Rikki found that he was avoiding most things warm and toasty. In fact, he wasn't satisfied until he was dressed and curled back in bed around Rakkwin, whose frosty fur was a welcome sensation. He wasn't even willing to get up when there was a rapping at his window, but it was open anyways and his father's corrividus wiggled in on his own.

Attached to the bird's like, like every other visit, was a piece of parchment. Unlike other visits, however, the corrividus seemed to recognize that Rikki wasn't going to give in to their customary fighting, and so it hopped closer until Rikki could release the paper with minimal effort. As soon as it was free of the letter it took off again and was gone in a flurry of feathers.

Nyyrikki, the letter read, We've recieved news of your standing in the Horsemen Trials. Congratulations on you champion status. Next time you come home, bring the medal so we can display it. We are proud of you. Tapio & Mielikki.

... Proud of him. Rikki reread the sentence over and over, unsure if his mind was once again making up things that didn't happen. After about the thirtieth time reading it, he was convinced. His parents had said they were proud. And yet it didn't bring the satisfaction he had expected. Not in this situation. It had taken battles with crabs and tentacles. It had taken three unbelievably difficult obstacle courses. It had taken the death of him and four others; perhaps more. It had taken all this, and some emotional trauma for his parents to be proud of him. Unbelievable.

Rikki stood and brought the letter to the still open window. He ran his fingers over the neatly printed words one final time, and then he let it go. He opened his fingers and let the parchment flutter through the air across campus until he could no longer distinguish it's shape from the leaf litter on the ground. And then he closed the window, turned, and crawled back into bed. He needed comfort. He needed understanding. There was only one person who could do that better than any other. Better than his parents could ever hope to. He picked up his phone and sent a message to Danny, short and sweet.

Come lay in bed with me?