ORIGIN

He'd told the Seven, quietly, of where he would be going. And why. The solemnity of it--the danger they would face--had his heart hammering in his chest. The dread of finding--or worse, not finding--the remains of Nassir, of Fireheart... it had his mouth dry before he'd even set one delicate hoof into the desert.

It was hot--blindingly so, each sweep of the dusty wind taking his breath away. Pale eyes half-closed against the onslaught, and he could already feel the burning heat against his skin. "Caves, it's hot," he breathed, and looked around. "You'll have to show me the way to the marsh. I've never been here." A warning he'd already given, but it was time to follow the pig's lead.

He tried to not think about the fact that the rest of her clan had been too fearful, had refused in searching for the stones. And he wondered, too, if it were even the truth. He'd only met Sora, out of that group; what if she'd turned on them, somehow? What if she wanted the stones for some other sort of... nefarious purpose, or the like?

Pride tried to idly tune in as he turned to follow, head low and ears back, grimacing against the heat. It was just a check--a half-idle one--but if she had some reason to come alone, something she wasn't saying, he wanted to know what it was. And if it were the truth..?

Then he wondered at her friends--and what horrors they must have seen, here.

One ear flicked toward Sora, but he was already doubting her words. Cold he could manage. This blistering heat was baking him alive, and already his mouth hung slightly open, a grimaced panting escaping him. At least her words about the others weren't... well, they weren't true but he sensed no betrayal from her. She felt that she had been betrayed; he could sense her thoughts straying to grief, to her friends, and he averted his mind to the task at hand (as much out of a sense of respect for that as anything).

He had spoken at length to Warrior, when the other had visited with that dragon-creature; he'd asked extensively about the dangers of Hydra with specifically this journey in mind. So when Sora professed ignorance of the 'monsters,' he was already running through the horrible possibilities.

Sand worms. Eyehooks. Hypnotic, venomous spiders. "If you see blue spiders, don't look at them," he murmured, his gaze lingering warily on the distant, hunched silhouettes of Eyehooks on the dead trees.

He let her lead--for whatever information he had gathered, maps hadn't been among the rest, and he had no idea which way was what. As they made their way from sand into sludge, the warning, too, of 'toxic gas' returned to him. That, and the unnatural quicksand, here. He placed every step with care, head held high, each inhale cautious--difficult with the heat, and his panting.

At length, suffering the stifling atmosphere in silence, he cast out his magic preemptively. It was a broad canvassing, nothing particularly precise yet, and for now he grunted and lowered his head, ears sagging miserably. It wasn't even grief; he felt wrong, about that. He should be mourning, thinking of his friends, seeking closure or even justice: instead he just couldn't stop thinking about how damn hot it was.

"There's stones ahead. Far, scattered, but I think I see a few," he informed Sora, voice already cracking with the hot, dry air. "Once we get closer I'll take a better look. But I can't guarantee they're the right stones," he warned. There was no telling how many died in Hydra. "Watch your step," he added, grimacing.

Pride paced forward, regarding the first torch with a slightly furrowed brow. He had no idea, of course, that it had somehow been related to the Trial; he glanced to Sora. "Any idea what that is? What happened? It looks like a burnt tree-?" Had someone ignited it, for some reason, during the Trial? Or was it older damage? Did fires break out here, in the strange gases of the Marsh?

He realized, then, that he was ankle-deep in the thinner layer of stagnant water that stood atop a marshy bit of sand. It had looked solid, but now the silt was disturbed and he'd sunk a little. With a faint grimace he pulled himself free.

He wasn't sure what she meant by 'oil.' "Oil-? What happened--what do you mean?" he asked, tone mild instead of urgent. He didn't assume she meant typical decay--he had no reason to imagine he'd need to be warned about that. Had oil somehow... come up and burnt them, drowned them-? Did he need to watch out for that? Warrior hadn't mentioned it, but it would be important to be aware of.

Backing to the edge of the pool, and bearing Sora's alert in mind--that the others should be close--he attempted again to cast out his senses.

Almost at once the already-considerable heat seemed to stifle, closing in, crushing around his head. It was as though the attempt to cast was pushing his body too far; that the acrid mist filling his nostrils left him dizzy. It was over a hundred degrees, they were in direct light-... He'd never experienced anything like this elsewhere in the caves. Pride stumbled, and suddenly he was on his knees without remembering falling. His head dipped, vertigo wheeling the world around him, and with a grimace he closed his eyes.

"Do you have any magic?" he asked, bluntly but quietly. There was no room for polite chitchat. He'd need some help if he were to both find, and recover, these stones--preferably something in the form of a cold bath.

Pride glanced at Sora, blinking, trying to focus on her words. And on her--she was doubling before him, his vision swimming. He didn't have the energy to explain that he thought the oil would be long gone, by now. That they'd find nothing but bones. The stresses of the heat didn't allow for real small talk--even thought.

The white stag grimaced, and with a renewed surge of determination, looked down at the water. "Step away from the water," he managed, twisting to shove himself weakly back up. He stumbled back, lowered his head--ears hanging--and concentrated.

A long, trembling, blinking moment, and his magicka swarmed. The water itself rose before them, slowly drifting skyward; the sand, too, began sprinkling upward like the grains in a broken hourglass. Up, too--ghoulish, ghastly, ghostly--came the skeleton of a big cat; some bones still connected, some falling away apart.

The last vertebra of the tail held the cluster of sleek quartz, stained by the quicksand, and Pride felt his heart drop. What were his last moments like? Grief, regret, guilt roared through him. Could he have stopped him-

-the magic faltered, and Pride was quick to shove the thoughts away, to redouble his efforts on the magic.

"Get the stone, Sora," he said, his voice strained. "I can't hold this for long. Just... use your momentum; you'll come out on the other side." Everything was floating--no longer drifting higher, but hovering there. The bones--the stone--were free for the taking, but Pride could only do one thing at a time.

He might have said 'please'; he would surely say 'thank you,' but right now all he could do was struggle against the heat, against physics itself, with little more than willpower.

When I get you home I will lay you to rest, and commune with you as best I can. I am sorry, Nassir, he thought. His pale eyes lifted to meet the empty sockets of the skull, and misery blinded him, for a moment, to all else.