[PRP] Gone to Ground (Verath, Arcadius, Ophelia)

[Lady_Ourania]

She woke gradually, awareness coming back to her piecemeal and littered with disconnected sensations. Dew had gathered on her shoulders and in the soft down beneath her half-spread wings, and Ophelia felt them like beads of cold sweat, trembling with every uneven breath. A slow, aching throb made itself known in her chest, a surface-level hurt that indicated a bruise at most, though it still restricted her lungs from expanding completely. Thin, ghostly white legs were cramped where she had left them folded beneath her, pins and needles the only reason she even knew they were still whole and present. Shallow cuts oozed along her neck and snout, the sting of them distracting, but hardly life threatening. The filly took in all of these things, discomfort making her mouth pull downward, chin quivering even as she steadfastly refused to cry out. Her family was nowhere nearby, after all, and she was not so injured that she needed or wanted to draw attention to herself, particularly if that attention was of a predatory nature.

It was the scent of soil, deep and rich with rain as it filtered into her nostrils, that finally made her open her eyes. A tree trunk ate up the majority of the halfbreed's view, and she stared at it for a long moment, assessing that landmark before letting her gaze wander sidelong. Broken branches littered the space around her in a halo, one of them lodged into the ground like a thrown spear, uncomfortably close to her ear. Ophelia took a deep, shaky breath and decided to ignore it for her own peace of mind. Instead, she craned her head back, neck stiff and protesting as she peered up into the canopy. There was a hole in the green uniformity directly above her head, an absence where the limbs had been torn away and left only nubs behind. Early morning sunlight filtered down through the break, drying the mantle of dew on her coat and warming her upturned face.

The events of last night came back to her in chunks: the dark cloud cover that she had flown into, wingtips skimming its water-laden underbelly with reckless pleasure. Flying lessons had become a regular part of her regimen, self-taught after her father’s last few blundering attempts at coaching had confused her more than anything else. She'd just been getting the hang of turning when the clouds had cracked open, forcing her to start in wheeling circles toward the earth. The sizzle of lightning had been immediately preceded by the stink of punctured ozone, and even the memory of that smell made the ghost of old panic flare anew no matter how she pushed it down. She might have been fine, blinded as she was by the light, but then the thunder clapped around her ears, stunned her like a swatted fly. She had dropped, and then the tree had reared up in front of her without warning. Tumbling, disoriented, everything tasting of green and terror, she hit bottom with a thump, and the world had blanked out.

Ophelia shivered at the reminiscence, drawing her wings up and around her sides to better hold it in. She spared an embarrassed moment to reflect on how both of the black appendages were shy a few feathers, most noticeable when she flared them out. It could have been far worse, the filly knew, even as she tentatively picked herself up, ducking beneath the pine’s low-hanging branches and stepping out into the clearing. There was no sense in lingering, neither on her carelessness nor in the space beneath the tree. But a cursory glance proved that nothing looked familiar, the trees forming thick, impenetrable knots and tripping segments of root. Dread roiled through her, unwelcome in its sourness, and she clenched her jaw and forcefully shoved it away, not in the mood to entertain such thoughts. She chose a direction at random and started on foot, determined not to show weakness or fear at the foreignness that hemmed her in. Once she had worked up her nerve again, perhaps she could take to the sky and get an aerial view of things. Until then, anything that was not standing still would have to do.  

[Kyaishi]

It would seem that Fate was having a good laugh at his expense.

Although Verath's ongoing journey through unfamiliar territory had largely been solitary, there had been a fair amount of nosy onlookers that had sought to disrupt his temporary peace, and he would have none of it. Some may have claimed to approach with good intentions, but the draconic stallion had no desire for company, no deep-seeded craving for companionship or camaraderie. He preferred to stew in his own hatred and bitterness- counter-productive though it may have been, he did not want to heal, did not want to trust again. His brother's betrayal had been so complete, he found himself wondering if this had been in the cards Fate had dealt him from the very beginning; if his entire upbringing had been irrelevant.

Just as well, he thought; Ranith would taste the same bitterness and misery that he had so enjoyed inflicting upon his older brother. Whether Fate intended it or not, Verath would make sure of it.

Now, though... there could be no coincidence here, if the red string he had unconsciously been following had led to this.

If she thought she was being stealthy, she was in for a rude awakening. The tiny shadow that darted in and out of his peripheral vision set Verath's teeth on edge- though if she was following him, he doubted it was on purpose. She probably wasn't even aware of his presence, and that was a dangerous oversight that could not be afforded here. Were he of a slightly less benign nature himself, he might have solved the problem in a slightly more bloody way than necessary. He dismissed the thought, but not without a thread of dark amusement that his 'draconic pride' may have suffered at his exile.

Whatever the reason, his skill at blending with shadows had given him the advantage of surveying exactly what had stumbled upon his path without undue scrutiny, despite the sparseness of cover in the early morning light.

He had to give the filly credit- from the stiff way she walked, it was a wonder she was on her feet at all, though that stubbornness could get her killed if she wasn't careful. Still, there was little to be done for it, as the forest surrounding them was not short of predators, and there was no shelter to be had for miles in every direction. The blood his sharp senses picked up tainted the air with a metallic tang- no doubt others may have picked up the scent already. His face twisted in an aggravated scowl, shoulders tensing in irritation as glowing orange irises scanned the shadows, slowly lightening with the coming daybreak. It was no concern of his whether this filly got herself killed or not, he mused with an irked whip of his tail. If she was foolish enough to be out here alone, she deserved whatever fate would befall her.

And it was with that thought that the small, winged shadow grew scales, glowing golden eyes, and a disarming bright smile. The image gave him pause, and though he answered it with a snarl, he whirled on the caster, discarding his cover, and advanced upon the winged angeni foal with menace in his steps.

"You're going the wrong way. Turn north, there's a ground herd just beyond the river that will help you." The words were not friendly, and his stance was aggressive despite the nature of his words. He owed her nothing, and this was nothing, simply a way to spare himself the annoyance of someone dogging his steps, intentional or not.

And with that, he flared his tattered wings, turned on his heel and stalked back onto his original path.

Fate had it out for him, indeed.  

[Lady_Ourania]

Walking pulled her various hurts together, taking each separate ache and transmuting them into a body-wide sense of discomfort. Her pace reflected as much, but she reasoned that slow was better than stopped, even as she repeatedly cursed her own clumsiness. On top of everything, the thought of returning home scraped and worse for the wear was vaguely humiliating. Ophelia could already imagine the fussing interspersed with a hefty sense of reproach for her hubris, as well as her siblings' sleepy, slanting glances. No amount of natural talent could make up for experience, it seemed. It didn't help that she had insisted on flying alone, far from home and with no one privy to her exact location. Her mother may not have noticed her absence yet, stranded as she often was in an ever-dreaming state, but her father was the type to count heads after every outing. The idea of his worry was what focused her attention back to the path before her, unwilling to examine her traitorous mind any further.

A sound cut through her uneasy haze, a short, sharp note that mimicked the previous night's thunderous retort. The filly froze in her tracks, ears pricking, nostrils flaring despite the way such a gesture tugged at the scored marks across her muzzle. Her heart registered the predatory nature of the utterance before her mind did, pulse ramming up into her throat, temporarily clogging her airway. When he finally emerged, all gleaming scales and towering stature, she had no idea how she might have missed him. Ophelia retreated a step at the look he aimed her way, haggard wings unfurling in a bid to make herself appear larger and more threatening. Bird instinct, she thought distastefully a half-beat later, but there was no helping it. She couldn't run in her current condition, and the leathery wings that stretched taut against her opponent's sides implied that even her ungainly attempt at flight would end poorly. She bared flat, blunted teeth anyway, not about to succumb without any show of resistance, no matter how feeble.

That was the moment he chose to speak, his voice so deep and shot through with intimidation that it took her several seconds to register meaning. Her lips slipped back down little by little, the filly's expression melting from one of resignation to honest bewilderment. He had lunged at her with a carnivorous growl, posture unyielding and words brooking no argument. Now he was turning away with a similar economy of movement, the molten outlines of his body steadily disappearing back into the shadows beneath the canopy. Any other day, she might have felt some small sliver of indignation working itself through her system. Fright did not come to her easily, and certainly not twice in such short order. But in the present, her overall exhaustion and a measure of shame for her behavior stalled such a sentiment.

"Wait," she called, only the whip-like end of his tail still visible to her. It wasn't a command, lacking the imperious heft of presumed authority, but neither was it an entreaty. She expected him to stop, to wait as she had requested, perhaps because he had shown himself to her at all. Ophelia took a deliberate breath after she spoke, the veil of composure closing around her, wrapping in a near-tangible way around her battered frame. It was something she had frequently practiced when alone, excusing it as a way to pass the time, but also to avoid some of the more flagrant tells in the inevitable presence of strangers. That it was already proving useful seemed fortuitous, even keeping the current circumstances in mind. When she spoke again, any lingering tremor had vanished. "If it's past the river, I won't make it on my own." It was a fact, simply stated, and without any clouding conceit. What remained of her ego had been knocked out of her in the fall. Ophelia had seen the river when she'd still been in the air, a thin, glimmering strand snaking its way through the woods and beyond. Even if she set out now, her fumbling grasp of the terrain – not to mention her various injuries – would force her to travel at a snail's pace. Darkness would arrive at the river before she did, and it had not escaped her attention that every living thing drank, meat-eaters among them.  

[Kyaishi]

Although his irritation had reached staggering heights by the time the draconic stallion's patience had snapped and he had turned on her, Verath had to acknowledge the young filly's bravery as she stood firmly in the face of her supposed death, teeth bared and wings ruffled challengingly. He had never encountered an angeni- she was petite, thin, barely of notice to a predator, he supposed, but those cerulean hues held a fierceness behind odd spectacles that was not wholly unfamiliar. Few had willingly met his murderous gaze that had little or no hope of opposing him, and the show of courage gave him pause, though it did little to calm his frustration. Rather than a reprieve from the turbulent images that were returning to haunt his waking steps, this was seeming only to stir unwelcome memories that he had firmly resolved to leave behind him in his exile. He had done his damn good deed, now couldn't Fate leave him alone?

Rather than give himself another moment to linger over the subject, he had turned and stormed back into the dark cover he had emerged from, belatedly picking up on the words she called after him. 'Wait.' He nearly snorted aloud at the thought. He owed her nothing, owed the damn world nothing, especially in the light of what had been taken from him, ripped so ruthlessly from his grasp- that he had been slightly impressed by her bravery meant nothing. There was no reluctance in his brisk pace, nor falter at her entreaty, though his ears did twitch backwards to catch the lingering hesitation in her words.

It was only what she admitted next that made him stop.

It shouldn't have, of course. He had already known that she likely wouldn't make it past the next treeline with the wounds she carried, and how potently the scent of her blood tainted the gentle breeze. What he had snarled in her direction was simply for his own absolution- why should he care what happened to her afterwards? It wasn't her words that stopped him... no, it was the tone of her voice that held his attention. It was without fear, without a note of pleading, spoken only with flat honesty and earnestness that he had never heard from one so young. She did not think herself entitled as many little brats had seemed to strike him; she did not whine, cajole or try to shame him into helping her. The hint of resignation within that murmured request struck Verath with a vague sense of wrongness, as if no one this young should be capable of such a tone. It ate at his resolve, festering against the fierce resentment he had for anything that stood against his desire to rid himself of sentimentality. He had once thought himself the kind of soul who stood for everything just and honorable, and though he had left that life far behind, a distant remnant of the past seemed determined not to release its hold on him, however faint it had become.

He couldn't turn her away. Not when she reminded him so clearly of one he had once owed his life. But that didn't mean he had to like it.

An audible growl grew in his throat, and his own lips curled back to bare razor-sharp teeth, much more suited for intimidation than her own flat, unassuming set. The molten stallion rounded on her, scaled tail whipping this way and that in agitation as he stared her down, though he kept his own wings tucked tightly to his sides. No need to let the filly know that his tattered, burnt and ruined wings were incapable of flight just yet, if he aimed to scare her off- perhaps if she changed her mind about just who she was asking for help from, he needn't have bothered with his inner struggle.

"What makes you think I am less of a threat than the predators who stalk you now?" Slitted, glowing orange irises darted from her small form to the shadowed foliage beyond, as if tracking an enemy that she could not see, before returning to her own and narrowing menacingly. Straightening his own solid frame to tower over the comparatively tiny foal, he made a point of looking down his nose at her. "I am no more innocent than those who would do you harm, little one."  

[Lady_Ourania]

He stopped. She could no longer see him, but his hurried footsteps, more perceptible in light of her knowing that he was there, came to an abrupt halt. For all her bravado, Ophelia could not have been certain of his reaction to her words. He was not her kinsman, and had no stake in the spilling of her blood. But he was no longer moving away, and she felt something in her unwind at his potential acquiescence, an ember of apprehension simultaneously sparking along her bruised chest. Ophelia held her position while the seconds ticked away, and she kept time by consulting the persistent throbbing in her head. Standing still was oddly dizzying in her current condition, the terrain prone to swimming in and out of focus unless she blinked hard and set it aright. Still, she did not speak up again, determined to wait him out.

When the snarl came this time, she was ready for it. Ophelia tilted her chin back to meet that serpentine gaze, wings pinned tightly to her ribcage to avoid another outburst. His approach was deafening and wild, doubtlessly intended to terrify her further. The telling glint of fangs at his lips made her grit her own teeth in turn, but she gave no other outward reaction, not about to add fuel to whatever fire lit his insides. His tail slashed the air like a blade as he stared her down, capable of decapitating anything that wandered into range. He spoke with the same harshness he had used to give her directions, and as he did so he searched the landscape beyond her, as though he would rather be anywhere else. It was only when he mentioned nearby predators that she recognized his aim, the sudden jolt of fear that suffused her still not enough to make the filly turn and see for herself. If she glanced away, whatever temporary spell held him in place might shatter as well, and she could not afford to lose this particular match.

Ophelia listened with as much detachment as she could muster, but her eyes narrowed when he uttered the casual epithet that had been leveled at her all her life: 'little one.' Dismissive, derisive, it was the sort of title assigned to runts and weaklings, and her natural designation as the youngest in her family. It was difficult to be taken seriously as a little one, harder still to claim her worth when she had sustained such debilitating injuries. But that was not the matter at hand, and she pressed her resentment down beneath more immediate concerns, with survival topping the list. The filly dipped her head once the grove had gone silent, the pale arch of her neck interrupted by a series of nicks and scrapes as she weighed his words. It felt oddly like a test, the stallion presenting himself as a riddle, an enigma, friend or foe depending on how she answered.

"Predators don't try to ward off their prey," she said after a moment, conviction in the way she lifted her gaze again, purposefully lingering in the shadow he cast. He had given her directions to a safe haven, even if he had promised nothing else. And he stood close now, between her tired form and whatever lurked nearby. That was not the behavior of a creature that intended her harm, no matter his posturing. As for the rest, it hardly mattered. She did not need innocent; she needed willing.

Still, that did not satisfy everything he had stated, and Ophelia took a quick, bracing breath before she decided to risk adding, "But if you're determined to prove me wrong, now would be the time." Her wings opened at that, more deliberate than when he had first revealed his presence, and it was an invitation and a preparation all in one. Despite her confidence in her judgment, she did not trust him, not completely. He was a stranger, and good deeds did not always translate into good intentions. If he launched himself at her, she would attempt flight over running, her legs treacherous in their trembling state. She would not get far, but she would at least make it further than fleeing on foot might grant her.  

[Kyaishi]

He watched as she fought the urge to follow his gaze, twitching helplessly in the panic that the predators he sought in the shadows were real- and yet she stared back at him, unyielding, unwilling to relinquish his gaze even for a moment to verify his claims. Something began to unfold in the depths of his unconscious, and it took him a moment to identify the unfamiliar response, so lost to previous years that he almost failed to recognize it. Respect. The little bird stared knowingly into her doom and refused to show weakness, despair. The parallels were beginning to seem far too convenient, and Verath fought himself between anger and the painful remembrance.

When she challenged him with her words, it seemed the battle was already won. The defiance, the unfettered courage; it struck a chord too near to the scarred and blistering hole that he had once called a heart to simply let be. If he lunged at her now, he had no doubt she would run- and she would die. Now fully considering the ramifications of such an action, Verath could no longer count himself uninvolved with the consequences that would lead to her death, and the decision was made for him. Resentment bubbled close to the surface, burning rage beginning to flicker through slitted orange pupils... but just as quickly as it came, it fizzled out again.

He knew that she was not at fault for this... whatever it was, that the circumstances for this situation lay far beyond either of their control. A filly as young as she had no business being this far away from any friendly help or guard, but there was nothing to be done for it now, and he was involved, whether he wanted to be or not.

For a moment, he only stared, as if the glimmering orange hues could pierce through her own and allow him to see what gave her such courage in the face of such monsters. What little bravado she had was even now starting to falter beneath his burning gaze, but still she held fast, refusing to give him any ground, show him any weakness. He supposed it hadn't been so long that he should not recognize this unusual for a foal... especially a filly. Especially a filly in her position. Again, another parallel, and he fought the urge to growl at the superimposed image. He didn't care what had happened, why she was here, or why those eyes seemed so much older than the tiny body that carried her. The world had done them both injustice, that was plain enough to see... but even now, it was still not his place to question.

His voice rumbled into a muttered growl as he spoke again, breaking the intense stare to crane his neck and search the forest line. His expression spoke of irritation and annoyance, but no longer the burning rage that had consumed him not moments before.

"You will keep up, or I will leave you behind," he bared his teeth threateningly, but it was without heat now, and somehow he knew she could already tell. "Come on then, little bird."

Without a backwards glance, he turned to stalk back into the forest, but his pace was none of the grueling, fast-paced powerwalking he had been doing before. Consciously, he slowed to accommodate the injuries he knew she carried, ears twitching for the sounds of crunching leaves that he expected to follow.  

[Lady_Ourania]

For a moment, she was certain she had overplayed her hand. Something surged up behind his face, a palpable threat that registered as warmth in the small space left between them. The ache in the arch of her wings intensified, that thin tent of bone demanding that she either take flight or remain grounded with nothing in between. In a clearer state of mind, perhaps she would have already assessed this unknown stallion – his teeth, his hairless hide, his demeanor – and accepted her chances on her own. Whatever she was doing now constituted a risk, less calculated than crucial. But as soon as his wrath arose, it ebbed away, like a tide doubling back on itself. Instead, Ophelia was left staring back into a calm, flame-colored sea. He watched her for a long time without speaking, the silence filled now with a different kind of scrutiny, one she could put no real name to. All she knew was that the violence had bled out of him in an instant. Ophelia wondered what pocket of universe carried it for him when not in use, that he could summon it so quickly back again.

The fracturing of their extended eye contact was nearly as jarring as his voice in the hush, coarse and unapologetic as ever. Another flash of fangs, an impatient flick of his tail, and he was on his way. Ophelia wasted a few, precious seconds processing what had just occurred. She was little bird now, a comparison that would not have made sense if the likeness had not occurred to her minutes before. This time, the insinuation provoked only a thrum of mortification beneath her skin, a sensation that was quietly overwhelmed by the flood of relief she felt from being acquiesced. Dismissing that train of thought, Ophelia focused on her current obstacles, the pace he set, and how she might obey the one condition he had commanded. With a breath sucked between clenched jaws, she compelled her body to move forward, taking a few, stumbling steps before her gait began to even out. Something grated unpleasantly in her shoulder, painful in a way she could handle with the slightest of limps to compensate. Surprisingly, his hulking form was still in sight by the time she was mostly in control, and she divided her attention between observing his position and checking the ground for pitfalls.

After a few moments of walking, the filly opened her mouth to speak, though she was drawn short. Thank you seemed too trite, and she somehow doubted that it would be received well. "Ophelia," she offered instead, the name delivered in a way that almost rang like the two words she had rejected before. A token for his troubles: something to call her by. It was little enough. If he delivered her safely home, her father would act sufficiently grateful for the both of them. She did not anticipate a reply, but instead continued to follow silently after that, leaving a comfortable gap between them.

The longer they walked, the more abstract her thoughts became, the distrust that sat heavily at the center of her mind unraveling slightly to take in other events. His movements proved easy to track with the sun on the rise, light shifting the scales on his flank and tail into countless intricate patterns. It was a little hypnotizing, worse the longer she watched, and her head already hurt. Really, her whole body still felt off, the scabs that had secured her wounds seeping slightly if she gestured unthinkingly. Ophelia knew she had always run a little cold, a fact that caused her father untold distress. But now she had to resist the urge to shiver slightly, even with sunlight licking intermittently along her back and shoulders. Still, she kept up with him as best she could, ears occasionally twitching when she heard things scurrying in the underbrush. It was impossible to know how far they'd gone when every step constituted work, but she knew better than to strain herself listening for running water just yet. They had a long way to go.  

[Kyaishi]

He heard her follow, heard her stumble and sway, but also heard her right herself and forcefully even out her gait, struggling to keep up with even his deliberately slowed pace. Verath kept his orange slitted gaze focused on the path before him instead of letting them wander to where he heard her limp, refusing any thoughts of compassion or weakness- though from what little he'd seen, the little bird might spurn any outstretched hand on principal, anyway. He was glad of it- any false pretense that he cared for her well-being was laughable at best, though there were other factors to consider.

He supposed he couldn't pretend that his resolve hadn't been swayed by her strength of character, but that didn't mean he had to appreciate that he was in this position to begin with.

Verath had a long history of keeping himself away from situations like this, although saying that he hadn't also created his fair share of them as well wouldn't be entirely true. He wasn't a friendly soul, and on more than one occasion, he had resorted to violence to get his point across when there were others that got in his way, or just wouldn't leave well enough alone. Or sometimes, just when they irritated him. He wondered, briefly, what this little bird would think of him then if she knew that- whether she would still consider him a pillar of protection or not. He snorted audibly at the thought. It was absurd, that he was even going out of his way like this to begin with, when it wasn't long ago that he was contemplating another foal not unlike her for a meal. He hadn't actually gone through with it, but it would be a lie to say that it wasn't tempting.

The sound of her breath hitching reached his ears after a few moments of stagnant silence, though it became clear after a moment that it was in hesitation rather than pain. Unconsciously, one ear tilted back towards her as the dark stallion continued his trek through the dim forest, waiting to see what it was that made the little filly unsure of herself. At the soft utterance of a name- what could only be her name- he started, upper lip curling back in beleaguered exasperation, though more perhaps at himself than her.

"'Little bird' suits you better," he muttered, and was himself unsure if he meant it to be an insult or not. Small and unthreatening as she may be, the grace with which she carried herself, even injured; the determination to continue flying (figuratively, of course), even the puffing up and posturing when she felt threatened earned her the nickname well, and garnered a grudging respect from him. In reluctance to acknowledge this, his stubborn silence followed the harshly spoken statement, tail still whipping back and forth in barely-contained irritation. After a few tense, charged moments of simply stalking his way through the forest, however, low baritones rang out in the chilled air with a single, gritted word. "Verath."

He didn't offer more than that. It was already more than he had offered to anyone else since his exile. Friendship, companionship, they were meaningless in the face of what he had lost, and offering even that much was just asking for complication. The draconic stallion was already determined to lose this strange filly- Ophelia- as soon as he was given the opportunity, given that there was someone else around to ensure she didn't die immediately. After that, she wouldn't be his problem anymore, and he could forget this ridiculous notion that she was anything like the soul that had perished because of his own soft-heartedness. A low growl arose in his throat once again at that, but in this instance, it was directed more at himself for continuing to linger in this train of thought.

It was not the same.  

[Lady_Ourania]

His reply caught in her ears, though the words themselves only served to resurrect the ghost of a grimace. The instinct to tack a nickname onto her was hardly new. She'd been dubbed Ophelia since before her birth, the result of a planned pregnancy: a name held in reserve. But her delicate build coupled with plain, unremarkable features had demanded an alteration, something she would not be forced to try and grow into over time. Elia had become the preferred moniker within her family, her name minimized, shrunk down to match her own smallness. It seemed even now that she was doomed to relive the experience of being reduced, everything tailored to her size rather than her abilities. Still, she had endured worse bouts of name-calling for less. If this 'little bird' business was the extent of the trade off, then she would take it, and gladly.

The stallion's voice sounded again, and Ophelia had to blink hard to avoid any other outward signs of surprise. She had given her name as a truce of sorts, a way to begin reparations for imposing on his time. That he had volunteered his in turn was unexpected. Verath. The way he said it - bitten off and sharp in a way it could never be on her own tongue - made her wonder at his motives. An exchange of names under normal circumstances would have been a straightforward affair, a matter of convenience more than anything else. In their present environment, with the imbalance of power between them and tension roiling off him in near-visible currents, it took on another, more complicated element.

If only the pain in her head would abate, she might at least hazard a guess concerning what shape their interaction might ultimately take. Even now, she wasn't certain of her judgment, whether his apparent ferocity had been held in check by her youth, or something else entirely. Ophelia had called his bluff out of necessity more than anything. That didn't stop his occasional outbursts from making her pulse quicken, the private snarls and snorts that he expelled like a volcano venting pressure. If she resigned herself to staying in his shadow, however briefly, she would need to learn how to decipher the smoke signals he let loose. Any failure on her part to understand what he expected of her might result in abandonment, or something more immediately fatal. He had the teeth of a carnivore, no matter what his prints in the mud resembled.

Ophelia opted to keep her own council on the subject, at least for the moment. Silence would likely agree with him more than any tentative attempts to lure him into conversation. It would be difficult enough to maintain speed without wasting her breath, anyway. Verath's only caveat had been that she keep up, and defaulting on that point so early on was not an option.

She kept to her resolve in the hours that followed. That first day flowed quickly into night, and only when stars appeared overhead did her companion call a halt. They rested with a few feet of space between them, her body glad for the reprieve. Verath watched her while she drifted off, eye a burning ember against the shadows of his face, and it did not unsettle her as much as it probably should. When he woke her the next morning, it was abrupt, very unlike the way she was accustomed to greeting the dawn. Her body still ached, but some of the hurts had softened overnight, even if the way she'd slept left her a little stiff.

Overhead, the sun crept ever higher, its heat after the previous night's lull summoning swathes of insects from their hiding places. Some alighted on the bloody scores still lining her face and throat, and she shook her head to dislodge them, the gesture growing more lethargic with repetition. The scabs cracked again under the assault, trickles of bright, bejeweled red that renewed the older trails. It stung, but the loss was inconsequential. More irritating was the way her stomach had begun to gurgle, the plaintive sound of it out of synch with her heaving sides. Of all the ways in which her body had chosen to betray her, this proved to be the most mundane, and also the hardest to ignore.

Her preoccupation was as such that she nearly missed the rustle that emanated from somewhere to her right, faint enough to have been her imagination. She turned her head to look, anyway, eyes dragging across the terrain without any real expectation. Activity narrowed her focus, and she spied a section of brush already beginning to settle several yards away, its fat, dark green leaves still waving in her direction. It took Ophelia several seconds to realize that nothing else was moving, that the brush had been set into motion by something other than the breeze. Her skin went tight, a fever flash of panic sizzling across her brow. Hadn't he warned her that she was being stalked? "Verath-"  

[Kyaishi]

"Be still," the dark stallion hissed and held out a wing to halt the young angeni foal, having come to an abrupt stop himself a moment ago, ebon' ears twitching madly to the sounds of the brush being disturbed behind them. It was the only outward movement he allowed- even his thrashing tail had stilled, frozen mid-whip as he trained all of his senses on what stalked them in the shadows. Ember eyes narrowed and nostrils flared, scenting the air soundlessly. He had known that they were being followed from a distance, but for these creatures to grow so bold as to actually attack them, the scent of the little bird's blood must have been overpowering. Either that, or they were rabid, and that was a possibility that even he did not wish to entertain in this situation.

They were at a severe disadvantage, here. He knew the area, but the last cover of darkness was quickly dissipating into daylight, and with all of the noise Ophelia made and the wounds that painted the air with the tang of her blood, they may as well have had targets painted onto their backs. Slitted orange pupils darted back and forth as Verath tried to measure their chances, evaluate risks and map out a strategy, but as they landed once again upon the feathered, bloodied filly at his side, his options dwindled down into just one. Slowly, carefully, one ruined wing curled around the white angeni filly's shoulder, urging her backwards and closer to his hindquarters, counting the number of scents he could detect in the air besides hers.

One... two...

When the first wolf leapt from the brush, teeth bared towards his charge, it was met with a vicious snarl of his own, and sharpened incisors caught flesh and fur in midair before its claws could make contact with ivory fur. Unrelentingly, the draconic stallion clenched his jaw until he felt a snap, and there was an answering howl as the wolf clawed madly at his snout, desperate for freedom. Undeterred, he dropped the hobbled animal, turning to snarl at the young thing at his side in the brief respite it offered. "Go! I'll find you!" The second and third creatures were already emerging, and despite his supposed indifference towards the young filly, Verath acknowledged that her safety called for caution- he could not fight and watch her back at the same time.

Whether or not she chose to listen to him, well... that was an entirely different matter. She was a stubborn little thing, after all.

Two more dark blurs shot out from the cover of the bushes astride them, one managing to find purchase on his scales and sink its teeth into one burned wing. The other was batted away with an angry swipe of his tail, skidding across the dirt without dignity. Oversized, sharp teeth baring, orange eyes flashing, Verath shook the attached wolf off of his wing with a pained snarl, rising to his full height and letting out a mighty roar- the likes of which probably had never been heard from any Soquili in this area. Unwanted, the thought now crept into his mind that perhaps if the little bird hadn't been afraid of him before, this might make her think twice, if she was still watching.

As more of the pack began racing to help their fallen brethren, all snarls and enraged howls, he began to wonder why that mattered.  

[Lady_Ourania]

She froze on command, only her eyes roving in the stillness of her face, blue and bloodshot against a coal-dark backdrop. As an afterthought, she tried to school her breathing into something shallower, quieter, even though she had to acknowledge that it was far too late for such measures to make a difference. She could hear them, all pretense of camouflage dropped now that they knew Verath was onto them. A shadow drifted over her, supple and full of holes where sunlight filtered through, and she jumped at the light touch on her shoulder. It took her scattered wits a moment to recognize it belonged to Verath, longer still to identify the pitted, moth-eaten thing as his wing. She stared without truly comprehending the sight of it, broken of the trance only when he exerted pressure on her. Realizing his intent, Ophelia sidled nearer without hesitation, tucking herself against the strange, scaled length of his side. This close, the smell of him was overpowering, a hint of autumn and the bright splash of an open flame. She breathed in deeply, anyway, felt the solidity of his taut frame, the preparedness of his stance.

Through the patchwork of his wing, she saw them coming, their eyes gleaming, mouths wet. The tremors that ran the length of her body increased, but she held her ground. One of the bolder wolves charged at her, and she pressed hard into her protector, steeling her aching body for the strength behind it. But those slavering jaws were intercepted by another set as Verath twisted around and plucked the creature out of the air. Ophelia watched, stunned, as he swung the wolf in a semi-circle, those hateful claws scrabbling at his face. A crunch, and the creature dropped back toward the earth, yelping and thrashing, nursing broken bones.

Verath turned to her then, his expression gnarled and his teeth dyed an irrefutable shade of red. She skittered back from him on reflex, hearing the entwined demand and promise a half-beat later. He was telling her to go, to run when she could barely walk. But more of them were pouring out of the undergrowth, and fear formed a complicated knot, pulling tight the noose around her neck. She tried to think, to form a response, but her mind was screamingly blank, wiped clean. Unbidden, she felt her wings open, black feathers sprouting in her periphery. Her legs unlocked long enough to allow a few, stumbling steps in the opposite direction, then bunched up as she pushed off. Ophelia flew. She fled. Below, Verath's roar lit the air, and a shudder rocked her at the sheer animosity behind it.

The fragmented light fell away as she broke through the canopy, the view of the forest from above a reminder that she was somehow still intact. That reassurance did nothing to halt the sob that clawed its way out of her, harsh and real enough to take the filly by surprise. She managed to make it a few minutes more before she wheeled downward, clipping branches in the descent before she hit cool earth with a thump. Ophelia collapsed on that barren mound, her own ragged exhalations amplified in her clogged ears. She cinched her eyes shut hard enough to see spiral-works of color rebound against her eyelids, ears straining for some hint of the violence she'd so recently quit. There, but far off, easy to mistake for something else entirely if she wished.

In the absence of an immediate threat, her thoughts began to arrange themselves back into some semblance of order. Shame rose to the surface of it all, coating everything in an oil slick of self-loathing. When Verath had pledged his protection, she had imagined his presence alone would be sufficient to dissuade predators. The idea that he had spilt blood for her, borne the brunt of another's claws on her behalf, made her innards slosh unpleasantly. Naivety wasn't a trait she would have associated with herself before today.

Her brow crumpled, the gesture prompting a bead of sweat to dribble into her eye. It had been a pack of them, no doubt about it - could he win against them all? Perhaps not, but with her gone, he had the option to run as well. I'll find you, he'd said, conviction strung up in the words. Yet the image of the wing he'd used to cup her to him replayed behind her closed eyes, a flap of flesh riddled with gaps, burnt as black as the rest of him.

He can't fly, she realized, horror clotting in her throat. Hours spent trailing him, and she'd just assumed, had never even thought to ask. Not that he would have welcomed the scrutiny. That meant his options were to flee on foot, or to fight to the death.

With a grunt, Ophelia rose to a stand once again, ignoring the hot wrench of pain in her shoulder. She was small, and weak, not a fighter to start. But if she left him to fend for himself, she was also a coward. Her lips thinned into an unyielding line, and she spread her wings again. They had carried her out of danger; surely they were capable of hauling her back. A few beats had her airborne, flitting back the way she'd come. What she would do once she got there, the filly hadn't decided. Her wounds and exhaustion left her with few options, and she didn't possess the same advantages that made Verath such a force to be reckoned with. But she was slight enough to go unnoticed, at least at first, and fortunate enough to have flight on her side. If nothing else, her bloodied face could serve as a distraction while he took them apart.  

[Kyaishi]

Five. There were five of them, two still hidden within the brush as the first three circled, one limping heavily on a crushed leg, but not incapacitated. Not an impossible fight, but one that his chances of winning without casualties dwindled every moment that those dangerous teeth remained in range of the winged filly at his side. Seeking to protect her and fight off these wolves at the same time was a deathwish, even for him in peak form- she was an unpredictable element and a distraction, and distractions killed, even in the best of situations.

He had felt the little bird back off at his demand, heard her trembling footfalls, but his attention was focused on their assailants, and he dove at one that ventured a little to close to his heels, incisors snapping shut inches from flesh and fur. There was a standstill, neither party willing to expose themselves by attacking first, and his hackles rose, shoulders tensing and wings flaring. Then, there was a snap of a twig behind him, and something within him loosened its stranglehold as he caught sight of black feathers and white fur taking to the sky, at once out of reach of the snapping jaws and thrashing talons that lunged after her. Verath straightened; renewed, confident. A feral grin lit his maw as the creatures turned back to him, incensed, glittering eyes aglow with hunger and rage.

"Lost dinner, have you?"

The mocking smile warped into a vicious, animalistic snarl, and he took the first leap, catching one of them by the tail and using his own momentum to swing the creature around and let it sail straight into a tree, yelping loudly. Another jumped him, teeth scraping along his back, but found no purchase on hard scales, and Verath easily threw it off with a sweep of one burned wing. The two that had been hidden in the brush emerged, finally, jaws dripping with saliva and eyes that spoke of desperation and starvation- a dangerous combination, but not one he was unfamiliar with. He bared his own teeth, letting them fall slightly open as a hunger of his own began to surface, tail once again whipping agitatedly behind him. They wouldn't make a pleasant meal, looking so emaciated and lean, but at least one that would keep him going until he could find somewhere to drop off his charge.

The thought only then occurred to him that he was intentionally, if unknowingly, curbing his predatory tendencies in front of the little feathered burden, and the draconic stallion shook his head angrily, suddenly disgusted at the thought. What did it matter? In a day or two, he would be rid of her entirely, and her opinion would make little difference. He had only hours ago been completely unconcerned with frightening her himself.

He was jerked out of his reluctant musings when another wolf charged him, easily dispatched with a headbutt of his own, but he realized a moment later that he had miscalculated when another set of teeth locked on to the only tender, un-scaled part of him- an area just above the ankle on his hind leg. Roaring furiously, he bucked, striking out with his captive leg. Although he felt it connect, and heard a strangled snarl of pain, his attacker didn't let go, just held on for dear life and clamped its jaw down harder. It seemed that he had grossly underestimated their intelligence, and perhaps their desperation as well. Another one of the pack dove for his other leg, and Verath spun despite the new attachment to his hide and caught the assailant with his teeth, this time snagging it by the neck, and with a snap, it was over.

That left three, with the one he had swung into a tree still down and out. Much better odds, but not certain, he mused with a cringe and a low growl as the wolf on his hind leg jerked downwards, trying to tear at his flesh, though its claws scrabbled unsuccessfully for leverage. Finally, he managed to swing around and catch the animal by its own hind leg, tearing it off with a pained roar and lobbing it towards the nearest pack member. It had taken flesh with it, and the wound now bled freely, but adrenaline would keep the worst of it from hindering him until after this was done. At least, he hoped as much.

Through the trees, a flash of white and crimson caught his eye, and with a beleaguered groan, the stallion's upper lip curled back in exasperation as he realized that the little menace hadn't listened to him, after all. "I told you to go!" he snapped, though she was barely in earshot, and all of his attention was focused on the remaining three wolves in their midst. If they both lived through this, she was going to get a verbal thrashing, he would make sure of it. Dread had settled like a heavy weight in his stomach as he had caught sight of the little bird, but once again, he refused to acknowledge it and its reasons for surfacing.  

[Lady_Ourania]

As her wings batted uncertainly in the too-still air, it occurred to Ophelia that there wasn't a cloud in the sky. If she turned and kept flying, maintained Verath's heading, she might reach the river on her own. Fear had been the only thing keeping her grounded, but such amorphous terrors fell readily to the very physical peril of being eaten alive. Still, she consciously chose to push her body forward, toward the cacophony of howls and enraged screams that pulsed up from the forest floor. The realization that she might make it alone changed nothing. He hadn't fled from her at the first sign of tangible trouble, and the least she could do was attempt to match his integrity.

From her vantage point above the battle site, she could see how the remnants of the pack ringed Verath in, lean, quicksilver shapes darting in and out, their movements practiced. They were accustomed to working as a unit, but they were also used to greater numbers: a few bad seasons had whittled them down. That made them no less dangerous, but it gave her an opening. Ophelia began her careful descent, mindful of the sun's location to prevent from giving her position away early on. Even if she'd been better at maneuvering, the trees still would have presented a problem. But her smallness proved an asset at last, letting her pass through gaps between treetops that would have seemed dubious to a full-fledged figure. Little bird, indeed.

Verath's shout cut through her concentration, and though the words themselves were casualties of distance, she caught the gist of his displeasure. An answering flare of annoyance ignited behind her breastbone as one of the wolves looked up in time to catch sight of her. So much for the element of surprise. Beyond that, she hadn't really devised much of a plan. She couldn't stay in the air indefinitely, and landing for any length of time was out of the question. At least capturing their attention wasn't difficult, her belabored wingbeats met with twitching ears and wide, eager eyes.

She angled her wings and dropped, swooping down low in hopes of enticing them. The prospect of harrying the creatures with her hooves was tempting, but she'd need to pick her battle if she wanted to avoid a pair of strong jaws latching onto her ankles. It was a delicate dance, and she knew that she wasn't in the best shape to perform this kind of act. Too close and they would catch her, pull her down and feast before she had a chance to recover; too far away and they wouldn't take the bait. She held her breath as she plummeted, cool currents of air raking along the cuts on her muzzle. The ground surged toward her, and when she could make out the crisp, individual imprints of fallen leaves with her myopic eyes, she swerved back up. One of the wolves broke ranks to charge after her, and she tasted bile on the back of her tongue, felt pure snowmelt course down the rungs of her spine. The tactician in her was pleased, but there was no denying the possibility she courted. Ophelia beat her wings hard to gain altitude, not about to falter now that she had one of them on her tail. Her eyes flicked from side to side, hyperaware of the edges of her body, where her limbs began and ended. One mistake on her end and the purity of her intentions wouldn't matter.  

[Kyaishi]

Verath stewed silently in his fury at the blatant disregard of his orders, upper lip curling back as he cut off an inward monologue about little birds who couldn't do as they were told would get a sound thrashing after all this was over, assuming they both made it out alive. "You are in hot water, little bird," he snarled, this time sure that she was close enough to make out his words, and made sure that the nickname was emphasized as an insult. While a large part of him respected her bravery, most of him cursed the misguided sense of honor she was obviously holding herself to- this kind of foolishness would get her killed. He was tempted, when she dove, to rake a few feathers with his teeth, just to prove a point, but as she pulled up from her dive, he saw two of the wolves ready themselves to attack, and all thoughts besides those of the current fight left him.

He lunged at one who was preparing to leap, leaving the other to make its pass at the blur of black feathers that swept by them, and some of his tensed muscles relaxed at he saw the bloodied jaws miss, and the petite form of the little filly soared out of reach. It was enough of a distraction that he caught his target by the paw, and the answering howl told him it was the wolf that he had already injured in the same way before.

Verath grinned, allowing himself some grim enjoyment as he once again crunched the flesh and bone in his powerful jaw, but this time, when he let it drop to the ground, it was abruptly silenced when a hoof met it's throat. One jerk, and another was dead. Slitted orange pupils quickly sought out the one unaccounted for- now two, with the one previously knocked out by its venture into a tree not up and prowling with its remaining packmate. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that the little bird was still keeping the one after her occupied, and she was still safely out of its reach- not by much, just enough to keep its attention. Perhaps she was more of an asset than he thought... though, still injured, he doubted much that she could keep it up for long.

He turned back to his assailants, deliberately letting them see him licking the blood from his chops with obvious enjoyment, and they both snarled in response. So... desperate enough to attack two enemies when one was healthy and three times their size, but intelligent enough to realize when they were being taunted. It was almost a shame to kill them, bloodthirsty as they were- he might have goaded them into giving him a good fight and a decent meal on a better day, but there was too much at stake here to be concerned with that. Without waiting for further provocation, the two wolves that were left charged at him, and he reared back onto his hind legs, pawing at the air with a tremendous roar as he baited them, exposing his vulnerable belly. A risky move, in any respect, but one that had the potential for enormous payoff.

They took the bait.

Massive, solid hooves came down on the furry form that had darted too close to the larger predator, and before it could even yelp, it was silenced with a sickening snap. The other wolf had had the good sense to edge away from the dangerous limbs, and now sidled up next to the treeline, glaring intently at Verath, but flicking its gaze to where the draconic stallion knew Ophelia and its one remaining packmate was. It all came down to exactly how desperate they were- it was obvious at this point that the larger Soquili would not be brought down, but with some effort, they might yet make a meal out of the angeni foal... Verath let his upper lip curl backwards once more in a threatening challenge at the mere thought, taking a bold step towards the hesitant creature. It flinched, but did not yet run.

Call it a brief flash of the honorable stallion that he had once been, or perhaps just a remnant of his tattered pride, but the little bird wasn't going to meet her end by these foul creatures.  

[Lady_Ourania]

A hysterical giggle bubbled up in her throat at Verath's threat, the impulse transmuted into a thick cough the second it clawed past her lips. The razor-sharp edges that grated in his voice rightfully should have terrified her, even discounting the words themselves. But with a wolf on her tail and an obstacle course ahead, a taunt hurled at her back seemed the least of her worries. And, well, he wasn't wrong. This was foolish, the kind of play she would have scoffed at from the sidelines as an uninvolved participant. He had offered her an out, and she'd refused to take it.

Her sinuses were burning, eyes streaming with the effort spent not blinking. Every branch that whipped toward her face was prepared to knock her out of the sky, and not all of them proved to be avoidable in the long run. Pine needles scraped welts across her sides as she hurtled past, wild, topographical scratches that further marred the canvas of her skin. Behind and below her, she heard the wolf's pursuit, the frenzied noises it made every time she unconsciously dipped lower. It had her scent, knew her strength was draining. Copper flooded her mouth, and she realized that she'd bitten down on the inside of her cheek when she discovered filaments of flesh caught between her teeth. The taste was wrong, foreign and yet edifying as she silently assessed her options. She couldn't hope to take it on her own, not with the tools she had at her disposal. She needed her surroundings to work for her, some small possibility in the soil or the sky that she might use to wrestle back the advantage.

Her eyes flickered accordingly, cataloging through the fatigue. A difference further to her right made her take notice, the trees appearing oddly stunted until she pushed herself to fly slightly higher. A few feet more, and she saw that her first impression was incorrect: what she could pick out were the tops of several larger evergreens. The rest of their mass had been obscured by the way the ground dropped off without warning, a sharp sheer in the earth that was only visible from above.

Ophelia veered to the right and chose to lessen the distance between her feet and the earth. A tussle in her wake assured her that the wolf had obliged to give chase in the new direction. Good. If she stayed low and kept its attention on her, it wouldn't notice the ravine until it tripped into it. Not the most elegant trap, but she would settle for survival over finesse. No one she cared about would fault her for the choice.

Hot, rank breath on her flank warned her that she'd miscalculated, let her trust in the plan bring her too low. Dread that had been simmering quietly in the recesses between her organs ruptured, white-hot and urgent. The schism in the earth opened up before her just as Ophelia jerked sideways. Claws swiped ineffectually after her, but yellowed, triangular teeth caught the edge of her wing and snapped down. Ophelia cried out, the sound conjoined with the wolf's yelp as it ran out of ground. She managed to rip the black pinions out of the confines of its mouth, her free wing thrashing madly at the air in an effort to keep her afloat. But she was already falling, her balance thrown and her injured wing trying to fold up on her. The forest reeled sickeningly, brown on green rapidly going grey around the edges, and she couldn't breathe.

Even out, she had to even out. Ophelia wrenched her wing open with a whimper, fanning it to match its unhampered twin as she attempted to slow her descent. The thin bones were wracked with tremors, and agony shot from the tip of it down into her shoulder, but it ultimately held. She peeled open her eyes when she became aware that she'd closed them, and saw the earth quickly rising up to meet her.

She smacked into the bottom of the ravine sidelong, and the world winked out in a wash of scarlet. It took several seconds before her chest fluttered weakly, longer still for her lungs to feel like they could truly expand despite the bone-deep ache in her ribs. Ophelia lay there, dazed and unmoving, her nose half-buried in the dirt. The wing not caught between her and the ground was angled awkwardly against her side, cramped and dripping red, but she couldn't bring herself to make it move again. Everything hurt too much.

Little by little her senses returned to her, painting a picture of bleak surroundings. Her distance from the cliff side itself had spared her from being cut to shreds by the rocks, a small blessing of sorts. The wolf hadn't been so lucky. It lay a few feet away, mouth open with a single, charcoal-colored feather stuck to its tongue. Neither the feather nor the sparse grasses in front of it stirred. Glazed eyes were still trained on her, committed to the hunt even in death. Ophelia consciously closed her own, focused on ignoring the pain that made her want to pass out in earnest.

After a time, she became aware of something wet and lukewarm as it tickled along the crest of her chest. She didn't have to look to confirm that it was blood, a slowly growing pool from the wolf that sat on a slight incline above her. The sensation deepened, went cold as the viscous stuff slid underneath her bulk, spreading around her still form. She felt it matting her fur, clumping the feathers of her pinned wing together in sticky strands. Ophelia knew she should move, pick herself up just enough to get out of the way. But her horror and disgust at the situation as a whole felt strangely muted, set in some high place well beyond her reach.