The soft glow coming from the end of the tunnel made him wince, shudder away, stumble, only held in place by the twin, fragile angels. Droplets of blood marked their path, sluggish rivers from the flames that had bitten into his chest and legs, hooves growing slippery with red. The nameless gelding's head hung low, distant gaze to the floor, breath heavy and constricted. Bile sat heavy on his tongue, and the only sign of his thready connection with the living world was his eyes, flickering to the sides every so often, snout moving to gently nuzzle over the brown doe and the white buck, assuring himself they were, in fact, flesh and blood - unlike the black wings and the white feathers, dancing at the edges of his vision constantly, taunting him.

Weak.

But the creatures holding him up, they were strong. Strong enough to keep him awake long enough for the star-room to come into view, step through the tunnel into its cold embrace. The stars weren't soft and gentle anymore; they cast a sharp, cutting light on his back, judging him with their bright eyes,

where is she where is your sister what did you

do

to

her

W̶͠͡҉H̶̢̧̀͘Y͞͝͝ ̕͟D́̕̕͢I̶̧͟͠D̴̴̡͠ ̸͠Y̨͡O͢͞Ų͠ ̢̨̕͡À̢͘B͢͠Á̕͟Ņ̶D͏͘Ơ̕̕͜͜N̢ ̨͠H́͘͟͞͠E͝͏͜R̕͟?҉̶͟

Ý̴̧͎̠̰̮̝̯̻̯̭̬͉̬̥̫̰̠̟ͅͅO͖̯̻̲̝͈͚͇̗͈̤̜͚̖̙͔̞͘U̧̗̬͎̪͙͘͠ͅ ̢̡̯̟͕͖̲̞̹̗̼̣͓͘ͅA̸̛͉̫̯̦̘͘R̨̯̜̣͖̯͔̭̺͚͙͙̭̲͕̭͠ͅĘ̷̭͔̤̬̠͖̲̬̕͜͟ ̵̨̠̥͈̹̳̹͙̭̠̣̳̥̼̤͘N̴̵̛̳̲͓͇͖͈̱̝̳͍͎̻̕͝ͅƠ̷̸̢̟͔̮̻͚̖̪̗̙̙͇̣͇͉ͅͅ ̵̧͔͓̖̞͕̖͓̹̳̬̟͙̗̘̱̻̕A̩̖͚̤͔͖̲̥̥̳̟̞̕͢ͅN̷͕̪̙̺̭̫̻̬̼̗̯̪͟͠͡ͅͅG͏͠҉̷̢͖̺̘͍͕͙̱͎̝͈̮̯͖̭̯ͅͅE҉̡̞͓͖̼͍̖̩͕̜̘̭̺̰̦̜͔͢Ĺ̵̨҉̪̲̘͕͔͉̞̲̣̘̺̟ ̶̷̞͈̝̙͇͖̜̺̬̭͇̖͘͢͡L̸͙̣̤͙̕͟ͅE̸̢̻̲̪̘̪A̡̩͚̙͚̝̼͈͇̤̰̟̘͞V̛͞͏̵̵̙͖͉̘E͏͓̪̜͍̘̟ ̧̙̬̰̟͘T͝͏̩̖͖̺̙̱̜̝H̴͞͏̀͏̖̫͔̟̰͓̟̗̱̯͕̳̫̤̣͍̖̹I̴͎̻̲̪̰̬̖̣̟̯͈̥̞̰̫͡Ś̛̛̻̞̮͉̥͕̖̖̪̖͘ ̰̳̣̳̯̻͢͡ͅP̟͕̞̫̜̞͍̀̕L͏̝͖̥̩̖̟͉͍̲͔̼̣̤̯̝͖͢ͅA̵̸̖͇̩͓̜̘͙̗͉̻̠̹̣̮͝ͅC̨̠̼͕̞̙̝̞̱͙̹͔̬̰̲̯͢͠Ȩ̮̱̩̳̼̬͙̦̮̩̪̪̬̳͝

Y̨͉̰̙̯̦̫͕̟̰̱͙ͪ̊̂̎̏̓̇͛̐̕ͅỢ̰̫͚̥͉̼̭͎̎̎̋̊͌ͪ̃̎ͬ̉̅̐́̀͠Ǘ̢͈͎̗̗̦̞̏̌̎ͩ̈ͬ͒͐̈́̊ͬ̓͞͞͠ ̨͎̟̮̺̫͇̬̗̼͈͚͓̗̖̱̜̀̑̂ͮ̀ͩͤͦ͂͘͢͡͞A͆͂̂ͧ͗ͨͥ̈́ͦ́̍̚̚̚͏̶̞̦͇̠̼͕̰̪̝̕ͅR̢̡̟̲̟͖̻͈̙̣͔͎͛̌ͬ̅ͩ͒͂ͯ͋͋̇̎͑ͬ́̚͘Ě̞͍̱̬̟̟̥̰̤̤͐͗̏͗̓̌̓͟͝ ͚̪͖̺̌̿ͧͩ̂͞P̢̝̦̫͓̓̂̿̍͊͊ͩ̚͡Ơ̭̮̦̯̮̒́̐ͫ́̽̈́ͯ̉̒̽̀̕͠͡I̧͆ͥ͒͒ͮ͗̾ͭͤͯ̄̊̾͋̒͐̃͞͏̼͇̖̝̘̥͖͇̞̪S̴̢̧͙̮̼̪̩̖̤͚̱̳̰̙͈̻̺ͤ͛̉ͤ̌̉ͦ͒͑̔ͪͧ̉͑̍̔̈̈́͒̕Ơ̧͇͍̫̫̳̺̯̰͕͙̥͔͙̫̥̜̦͛̅̀̏̌͐ͭͪ̾̓͢͠͝N̾ͨͬ́ͫͤͥͣͩͯ̉̔ͮ̏ͭ͝͏̴̧͉̞̮͖͙̭͉͈ͅ



until he had to stop, shivering, staring blindly out at the expanse of Orion.

M҉̛O͢͠͝V̧͘̕͡E̢!̸҉͘͏

He stumbled again, bad ankle twisting, head kept low, panting, ruffling his helper's pelts as he obsessively checked on them again. They were here, safe, the angel's crown shining in the glare, the messenger's breath showing in the chill. The ruined buildings that he'd taken shelter in for the first month still stood, the familiar throne rising above them, the tower's silhouette clear in the distance. Moving. He needed to keep moving, because the angel wasn't safe, the demon could still be following and waiting with swords for teeth and fire for breath. It would hunt them down, bloody the angel's coat, snap the messenger's legs like twigs, brand their hides with red-hot coals.

Something slid down his back.

The degenerated braid landed with a soundless thump on the ground, rolling away, and he finally stilled, eyes half-closed, chest barely rising with every soft intake of air. He didn't know where to go, now.

He didn't know how to keep them safe.

But the shadows could comfort, if not protect.

Slowly, the shade of the tunnel slipped forward in tendrils, wisps on the air, curled around his helper's legs and covered their backs, never daring to go past the neck, afraid of doing more harm than good. A cloak of soft, cool dark shrouded them both, see-through and intangible, easy to miss with the eye but impossible with touch. The gem in his chest pulsed a sickly black and rested.

He waited.

It seemed like the only thing he could do.

@Ashtoreth @Kingsfoil @Thistle @Hasira and any others from the herbivores!

Sometimes, but not often, Kingsfoil disappeared. He wandered off without her, leaving her to Euron or even occasionally the rhinoceros children. Today, however, he was just missing when she woke up, and a quiet dread built up in her chest. She hated herself for worrying for him, but she tried to rationalize it: if something happened to Kings, the Lord of the Herbivores would be furious... And when Hasira was angry, she was one hoof stomp away from a broken neck. Her fragile husk was lucky to survive this long, exhausting as it was, but despite herself she found the energy to be concerned for her Prince.

Kingsfoil was a rotten child, but it wasn't really his fault, after all. Ashtoreth was tucked away into a corner, hoping that Feverfew and Deadnettle wouldn't find her and play with her. Euron would have been a better disaster, as sometimes she sensed the tiniest fraction of sympathy from him. She listened to a silent hum on the air, getting better at listening to songs without actually playing them with her magic. Today, her flavor was the soothing voice of Carrie, murmuring love and affection to Yarrowfeld. Gentle Yarrow was no where to be found-- his mother didn't let him get this close to the throne, to Hasira, because she actually loved her son.

The degenerate carnivore's ears perked as she heard the sound of hooves. Light, dainty steps, proud and haughty, slow and stumbling. So many different kinds, all muddled together on the wind. A smile broke across her green tinged snout as she tried to rise. Her vision cut out as she did so, nausea lining her tongue with saliva as she held back bile in her throat. This was fine, she thought as she swayed in her corner. Her body slumped against the rubble strewn wall, too exhausted even now to move.

Was it Kingsfoil? She hoped-- foolishly-- that it was. She caught her breath in rasping, wheezing tones, shriveling in on herself. Wings wrapped around her tiny, starved body, the barest of camouflage in the stone and starlight. Her beady eyes found focus again, though the shapes she saw were blurry. Her nose understood the smell before she understood the colors. Her mouth immediately tasted as though she had been sucking on a penny, her fur rising to bristle despite herself. Blood, blood, blood.

Maybe she was finally dying...?

The wars of children. Euron was one of those left behind, when Kingsfoil had gone off with a sense of excitement and purpose to him. The foal had watched him go and thought nothing of it, lingering behind with Kutu/Ashtoreth and the other herbivores that lived in Orion. He'd used the opportunity to think and doze, settling himself into a crypt-like ruin, comforted by the closeness of its walls, and letting his brain ruffle through the developing knowledge of his element. There was so much to learn, so much to feel, so much to do. He could feel the life pulsing-- well, everywhere-- product of the crowded bacterial world, and not everyone felt that, he'd learned. Ashtoreth he mostly ignored. That was generally what he did, when Kingsfoil left the carnivore either directly in his care or left her behind. His feelings were complicated; some latent morality urged him to be kind to her, but she was a carnivore and lesser and Kingsfoil had very clearly set the standard by which she should be treated through example. And Euron did, very much enjoy lording over her (/lording over anything), exercising and perpetuating and solidifying his superiority. But that didn't require being cruel, and so often that's what things with Ashtoreth came down to. So, out of a complicated mix of guilt and frustrated stubbornness, he left her alone with Kingsfoil wasn't around. She'd enjoy some time to herself, he figured, and this way that little nagging part of himself wouldn't urge him to apologize. Euron should never, ever apologize. It just wasn't him A smell on the air distracted him-- one that he was instinctively familiar with, despite the fact of his being a herbivore. Bacteria knew what blood smelled like. Something bleeding in Orion, around the time Kingsfoil was due back, jerked him out of his reverie instantly. He pulled himself from the comfortable little crypt space he'd been dozing in, honing in immediately on the source of the smell. Eos. The other horse. Terribly wounded. Even Euron's stomach turned at the sight of those burn wounds, shining and fresh and achingly raw in the night. He closed the distance between them. "You look gruesome." he said, bluntly, bedside manner not included with his reluctant usefulness as an occasional healer. "Hold still-- this is important-- I don't want to get this wrong." He reached into the knowledge he'd been so recently examining, half by instinct and half by intention, casting the ability he'd been born with on Eosphoros. There was bacteria in every wound, just as there was bacteria in everyone. Some of that bacteria could be very harmful, if it grew out of control-- others more beneficial. With his micro-cloud, he reached out and called those beneficial ones, promoting their growth, infusing the air around Eosphoros with more of them. He couldn't heal the wound directly, but hopefully he could make conditions within it more optimal to healing, and give the infection-causing bacteria a harder challenge. That done, he looked between the three of them, eyes wide. He hadn't asked what they were going to go do. "What happened?" he asked, unable to stop the question. @Eosphoros @Ashtoreth @Kingsfoil @Thistle @Hasira

Thistle was calm and patient the entire way, speaking softly with Kingsfoil as they helped the poor horse to his home. He was leaning on them more and more till it got to teh point where Thistle was wondering why he could even walk, he was swaying so much and he sounded so out of breath, but still, he checked on them with his nose like clockwork, and she could feel his good intentions in his touch, and she wanted to get him to safety more and more with every step. Such a kind soul shouldn't have been hurt in the first place! Why, if she caught the mean gem that did it, why, she would...she would....

Well, she didn't know what she would do. There were too many variables. But she would do something-!

And when they finally made it to the star room, she glanced up at the stars with a familiar smile, like she was seeing a friend again. She loved this place and its quiet, dusty glory, with its many secrets hidden under its age. Who knew what happened with this place? Who knew who slept here, waiting to be awoken?

When another horse, a very pretty one, came up to them both, Thistle stepped a little bit away, feeling the tiniest bit out of place. The new horse seemed to know these two, so perhaps she would let them do their business.

She looked around slightly, and spied a form slumped against a pile of rubble, and she frowned and walked over to it. Ever curious, its identity didn't realize itself upon her until she was up close, and when she understood, she gasped and kneeled down to them. "Are you okay? Are you hurt, too?" She asked softly. She turned to the group near the wounded horse and she called, "Excuse me-! There's a hurt gem over here, too!"

Then she looked back at the little winged one and said, "Here, climb onto my back so we can get you some help, okay?" She offered her neck to the small one, so that they could climb easier.

His vision flickered in and out, dark spots waltzing across Orion, and the nameless gelding shuddered, trying to focus on something, anything to make his pupils stop searching for a threat. Something moved - moved - moved in the dark, black and white and small - another angel or a demon, he didn't care, it came too close and he flinched back, rearing up on weakened back legs, legs hitting the ground again with a sharp crack! The foal was moving its mouth, talking but without meaning. The white feathers had spoken and it had always, always made sense; a frustrated huff and he settled, terrified of hurting the angels at his sides.

And then something twitched, all along his open wounds, and he skittered backwards, fear and anger and nausea mixing until the gemstone in his chest flashed bright white, the shadows that clung to his frame morphing his face into a hellish display of teeth at every angle, eyes black pits, horns curling to point at the stranger accusingly.

He didn't make a sound.

But he stared, shadowy mask snarling at the thing that did something, something, something to the parts of him that hurt, confused and nearly unconscious, wavering on the spot, oblivious to the messenger's actions. The false teeth that gnashed along the illusion spread and twisted out from the mouth, a three-fold crease that unfolded like a flower, lined with row upon row of dark, unreal silhouettes.

It drew, of course, from what he'd seen in the void, the nothingness that bit and clawed - turned it into a weapon, something to get the thing away, away, away, because it might not be hurting but it was too close and too foreign and he just wanted to go back to sleep.

@Euron @Thistle @Ashtoreth

Eos' mask was effective-- not expecting it, Euron started and shied, his heart pounding in his ears as she skittered backwards on long little foal legs, barely managing to keep his balance. That wouldn't stop the effectiveness of the bacteria-- they would do their jobs in their slow-but-overwhelming way, whether or not Euron was around to direct him-- he just wouldn't add more to their number, not scared as he was. But the fear subsided within a few minutes that seemed to stretch much longer, and in its stead came embarrassment, hot and nauseating. The exposed, soft skin of his muzzle blushed red with humiliation, as he realized that-- as scary as Eos looked, and still looked, that Kingsfoil had brought him here and that he'd just showed an embarrassing display of fear in front of his sworn prince, in front of the others who had-- like him-- sworn loyalty to to sworn prince. He hated that, showing weakness, showing fear. Lesser things did that, carnivores did that, and he wasn't like them. He was brave and fearless and a knight and knights didn't run away from scary burned and injured horses who could barely stand, even if those horses had scary faces made of shadows. And, paradoxically, alongside that shame, he still felt the fear of Eos's shadow-face; the defense was doing its job. In the impetuousness of youth, he sniffed, tried to look above it. His voice was thin and shakey, though, when he announced to Eos, loud enough for the entire syndicate of herbivore babies to hear, "Fine, see if I help you again." IT was meant to make him sound above this issue, and it probably didn't work. With that, he moved towards Thistle instead, intent on ignoring Eos' scary face. "Someone else is hurt?" he asked brusquely, not really the kind to be a healer by temperament or inclination-- just by fluke of which spells he knew. When he saw what Thistle was speaking softly to, he looked unimpressed, and suppressed the fluke of ill-feeling and guilt that Ashtoreth's suffering always brought him. He was getting good at it. "Oh, that." he said, with a frown. "That's Kingsfoil's carnivore servant. She's never well. Weak constitution, like all carnivores." he sighed, but figured he might as well do something regardless. It probably wouldn't do well for Ashtoreth to die while technically under his watch. "That's Kingsfoil's carnivore servant. She's never well. Weak constitution, like all carnivores." And he reached inside and cast the same thing he'd done to Eosphoros, as much for something to do to distract himself from the continued presence of the scary-faced and heavily-burned stallion in the doorway as anything else. @ashtoreth @thistle @Eosphoros

With the strangers came a strange, stinging sensation that brought her back to life. She blinked, blearily, at the strangers-- flinching away from the doe she had never met before. Soft words. Kind words. Words she didn't deserve. Her bloodshot, dry eyes flickered towards the shadow of Eosphoros-- no, it wasn't, it couldn't be him-- and she recoiled as the bacteria hit her body and took hold, trying to kick start a system that was too weak to fight anymore.

She turned her attention to the Prince, wanting to flee on to his back. It was where she belonged, not with this stranger. She wanted to flee to him, but he showed her no attention, and as Euron's words whispered to others about how she was weak and useless, she grit her teeth. Eosphoros. She felt bile in her throat, raw and painful acid coming because nothing else was in her guts. She didn't so much turn from the group as twist and scamper over her own, broken and battered wings, darting away into the shadows.

When Kingsfoil wanted her, he would call for her. Until then, she didn't want to become a toy to these new strangers who carried her friend's ghost with them.

;; ash exit