The black foal moved slowly into Monoceros, thinking how good a thing it was that the ground there had been smooth and level. He wasn't sure Louie would have made it, otherwise.

The fox's injuries had been great, the wounds over half his face leaving him very weak. Khloros had gone slowly, leaning his head down to support him now and again--though he wasn't sure Louie had really needed it. Still, he hadn't been about to leave the fox to die, not after Louie had (so Khloros thought) saved them all from the great dragon in Polaris.

And so the near-skeletal colt, his dull coat matted here and there with patches of sickly pus, his eyes glowing with an eerie yellow-green light, was now emerging for the first time into the vast windswept caves that the red fox called home.

"This is it?" he asked softly, his voice quiet and a little hoarse. He raised his head, letting out a quiet nicker as his ears pricked up, turning his narrow head on its long, thin neck to peer about wide-eyed. "Where do we go, from here? Where do I need to get you to, to be safe?"

But Louie did not respond--too tired, too injured, perhaps, to answer. And nobody came to greet them. Monoceros remained achingly empty, the wind howling through the vast gorges and timeworn crags without even an echo of response.

Khloros hesitated, glancing around as Louie started off again, following along in silence.

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BRING OUT YOUR DEAD