#she gave me perfect canter on the ground last night

[whywishesarehorses]

💜 she's the best

[elizacornwall]

Vengeance is an Idiot’s Game

So, as mentioned previously rdr2 got me so hard in it’s grip I’ve been writing a goddamn epic as my first fanfic. Here’s the first chapter, and also the link to the whole thing! There’s 30 chapters uploaded and I’ve currently got - checks notes - 51 chapters written in various stages of editing, I’m uploading weekly for now. Enjoy!

Eliza awakened with a start, the sudden feel of heavy pressure against her jaw had ripped her out of her deep, dreamless slumber. Panicked she blinked the sleep out of her eyes, as the muffled sound of her own protesting voice escaped from beneath the gloved hand that firmly sealed her mouth shut. The figure above her seemed to look down on her and lifted one finger in front of his lips, gesturing her to be silent. With a racing heart, she complied. It was hard to make out any features on the man towering above her, her room was pitch black. It must be the dead of night and no moonlight made its way through the curtains. He bent down to her and whispered; his lips close to her ear. She could feel his hair fall against her cheek. “You better stay quiet and come with us willingly, otherwise this is going to end badly.” His voice was quiet, but sharp. With a racing heart, Eliza gave the hint of a nod. She wasn’t about to put up a fight against a man that was able to intrude into her family’s home, was probably armed to the teeth and by the sounds of it, had not come alone. He gave her an intent look, the scarce light reflecting in his eyes, sending a shiver down her spine. No, this was indeed not a man she could get away from. He slowly lifted his hand off her jaw, hovering it there just a second longer in case she decided to defy his orders. When she stayed quiet, he pulled her up to a sitting position and roughly tied a strip of fabric around her head, gagging her. It tasted awful, but she wasn't going to complain. He quickly proceeded to tie her hands and feet. Eliza was shaking from head to toe now. She's had the odd intruder in the night trying to assault her in the last few years, usually frustrated men her father picked out against her will for her to marry. Thankfully, her late uncle showed her a few tricks to defend herself when she was younger, and these unwelcome attempts always ended with them doubling over in severe pain, and Eliza getting a scolding from her old Sire, disappointed in her disinterest in any and every man. This wasn't anything like those nights. Tonight, she was scared senseless, and even if she wanted to defend herself, Eliza wasn't sure her body would follow her instructions. In one swift movement, the man picked her up by the waist and slung her body over his shoulder. He did this so effortlessly, as if she was light as a feather. She let out an involuntary whimper, silenced by the gag tied around her head. When he carried her down the big, sweeping stairs that led into the entrance hall, she heard more voices whispering on the ground floor. “You got her? Good. Keep quiet everyone, let's disappear." The girl turned her head, trying to make out who spoke and how many men there were, but her kidnapper seemed to wear something like a blanket or scarf draped over his top half of the body and she couldn't peer past it. He reached the bottom of the stairs and his quiet steps quickened, making for the entrance. Where were the guards and servants? Surely they would have raised the alarm by now. There should have been at least half a dozen riflemen on duty at every hour of the day, yet the house felt completely empty. She tried not to think about what happened before these men got to her. She got carried through the big double doors now, the cold night air full of whispers. The steps set a quick pace away from the open doors, the tall pillars, the sweeping porch. Her heart was still hammering in her chest, the man would surely feel it, and for some silly reason Eliza was ashamed and disappointed in this display of her fear. The crunch of the gravel beneath his feet turned soft as his boots stepped onto the grass, away from the path that led up to the mansion in a straight line. “Over here! Bring her here, we'll put her on Moonshine”, a low voice beckoned. They had reached the outskirts of the small woods that surrounded the manor, still no sign of any guards. She swallowed hard. Tied at her hands and feet, her mouth gagged, there was no way she could fight her way out of this. “Here, I'll take her off you Javier.” A pair of hands gripped her waist tightly, and she got swung around over a different pair of shoulders. After a few steps she got heaved up and across a mighty horse’s back end, the man secured her with a couple additional ties, then lifted himself up into the saddle on her left. She strained her neck trying to identify the group, but the night was moonless and all she could make out was shadowed figures, getting on their mounts and readying themselves to set off. Hooves padded over the ground and she was being carried away from her home, as their mounts changed from a walk into a trot, and then into a quick canter. - There were about four, five horses Eliza decided, by the sounds of their thundering hoofbeats. Every now and then she caught a glimpse of one galloping next to her, but she wasn't sure if it was the same each time. It was hard to keep her head lifted, as the up-and-down movement of the horses rear end took a toll on the muscles in her neck. They were riding for a while now, putting miles between her and her home, and her mind had settled a bit to allow somewhat rational thought. A group of men invaded her house, she got stolen out of her own bed, and now she was on the way to who-knew-where, to do who-knew-what to her. Was one of her spurned admirers behind all this? It seemed the most likely case, yet she did not know how they hoped to win her favour any more than the futile attempts of (mostly) polite conversation at the dinner table and (sometimes) the following bold, drunken advances, that (always) ended in her stern rejection.Her father had tried to set her up with over a dozen men of his choosing, of course all of them filthy rich, in powerful positions and all of them blessed with the nastiest personalities. She could imagine a few of them who would attempt something so foolish as to kidnap her, the unwelcome visits at night didn't exactly paint them as gentlemen that would take no for an answer. She was pondering over which one it would most likely be – Mr. Vanderbilt, who bragged about bedding several of his cousins; or Mr. Lemieux, a middle-aged Frenchman, whose accent alone made her stomach turn in disgust. She was pondering the options when she noticed the horses slowing down. The group came to a full stop, in the middle of nowhere still, when the man riding in the saddle on her side turned around with a creak of the saddle and wordlessly fashioned another piece of fabric as a blindfold, before removing her gag.Meanwhile, a modulated voice sounded from somewhere behind her.“I apologise for this rude abduction Miss, please stay quiet for a little while longer. We're not far from our destination, where you will be residing for a few days at least, until our business matters with her father come to an end.”This took her by surprise. Business matters? Her father only moved in the highest circles, what business partner of his would kidnap his daughter to help with some deal or other? It didn't make any sense. With no further talk the group moved on, Eliza now blindfolded, although the night was so dark that it didn't make too much of a difference anyway. About an hour later the horses slowed down again. The air was filled with the biting scent of burnt wood and the soft rustling of more horses could be heard, as she was carried through the undergrowth in a trot. The group came to a halt.“Welcome back boys! Did everything go to plan?”As soon as the men started to dismount, a high, crackling voice sounded.“Naturally. It was the perfect night for it, wasn't it boys? Now, get to your tents and catch some rest, well done everyone.”The same man that addressed her earlier, apologising for being 'rude'. She wanted to tell him what she thought of his apology, but deemed it wiser to keep her mouth shut, until further notice.There was some shuffling as the men unsaddled their mounts, and then the same man spoke again."Arthur, could you please bring the Miss to the accommodations we prepared for her?”The man climbing out of the saddle next to her answered in a low, grumbly voice.“Sure, you want me to keep her blindfold on? She won't be able to see much in there anyway.”“You're right, take it off when you've brought her in. After all we don't want to cause any discomfort to young Miss Cornwall!”

[scapegrace74-blog]

Saorsa, Chapter 31

A/N  If it seems like these updates are becoming less frequent, it’s because they are.  I had high hopes of being ready to post the sequel by the time I got to the final chapter of Saorsa.  The only way that’s going to happen is if I slow the chapter updates down to a slow drip!

Rather than link to all previously posted chapters, I’ll just direct those of you wanting to catch up on your Saorsa-reading to my AO3 page, where the fic is posted in its entirety.

NOTE:  the end of this chapter is the end of the Happy Version of Saorsa, Arc 1.  If you read past this part, don’t get mad at me when you get to the end of Chapter 37!

Thank you to each of you liking and reblogging!  It does my little fanfic writer’s heart good.

The horses were exhausted from dragging the empty wagon uphill through the thick Highland mud.  Just past Loch Insh, the lead gelding went lame.   Pulling into the lee of a huge Scotch Pine, Jamie dismounted to check the animal.  His near hock was swollen and warm to the touch, but the horse could still bear its weight; just not the weight of the wagon and its driver.   Blowing raindrops off the tip of his nose, Jamie set to work unharnessing the team.  It was twenty miles to Lallybroch.  At this point, he was willing to crawl if need be.

Donas was a fractious animal at the best of times.  He coiled and twisted like a four-legged snake between Jamie’s thighs while he tried to lead the two draft horses.  To make matters worse, the wind was blowing through the abutting forest like the tines of a giant comb.  Without warning, a nearby tree branch broke with a snap and fell with a heavy thud.   All three horses spooked.  Donas reared, and Jamie found himself lying in the mud holding onto Lonnie and Clyde by the reins while his mount’s black hindquarters galloped into the distance.

***

Highlands roads had been infamous in his time for brigands and reivers.  The last thing Jamie needed was to have the profits of his toil stolen not ten miles from home, so when he heard approaching hoofbeats, he quickly hid with the horses in a dense thicket by the edge of the road.

A rider on a stout grey cantered by, his face occluded in the darkness.   Jamie waited a few minutes.   When the sound of retreating hoofbeats was nothing but the hammering of blood in his ears, he led the geldings back onto the road and turned again northward.

***

His legs ached, his feet were blistered from walking all night in his riding boots, and he was chilled to the marrow.  It was only another five miles to Lallybroch, but Jamie couldn’t take another step.  He was so tired, he didn’t hear the approaching hoofbeats until they were practically upon him.  By then, it was too late to hide.

“Beannachdan, neach-siubhail,” a gruff, familiar voice called out.

It was Murtagh, astride the same sweating grey cob Jamie had hidden from only two hours before.  Upon finding the Lallybroch wagon abandoned by the side of the road, the old caretaker had doubled back in the hopes of finding Jamie along the road.

“It gave us a mighty fright when Donas came back wi’out ye, lad,” Murtagh explained.

“Aye.  I must rest a spell, but I’ll make my apologies tae Claire when she wakes t’morrow.”

“There willna be rest fer ye t’night, mo ghille.   She needs ye.   Take my horse, and I’ll follow as I can wi’ the geldings.”

The look on Murtagh’s face flushed ice water into his veins, numbing his pain.  Without another word, Jamie leapt onto the cob and galloped towards Lallybroch.

***

Dawn was just beginning to gild the sky when the exhausted horse and rider clattered into the courtyard.  Not even bothering to wait for a stable boy to emerge for his mount, Jamie swung his leg over the pommel and leapt to the ground.  He nearly collapsed to his knees before struggling upright and tripping up the stairs into the house.

“Claire!” he yelled as he ran upstairs, eyes bloodshot and wide.

The house was silent as the grave.  He tasted the bitter acid of terror on the back of his tongue.

“Claire!” he tried again as he flung open the door to the laird’s bedchamber.   The bed sat empty, stripped of its sheets.  A bloodstain marred the middle of the snow-white mattress.  Air flew from his lungs as though he’d been punched.

He ran back into the hall, planning on finding Mrs. Fitz and shaking her until she explained where his wife had gone.  His wife and child.  Gone.

About to descend the stone steps, a faint noise brought him instead to the guest room he had occupied before his marriage.   Standing before the east-facing window and backlit by a brilliant sunrise was the most beautiful thing he had seen in his life.

Claire’s back was to the door, draped in the Fraser plaid she’d gifted him for Hogmanay.  She was swaying slightly from side to side, speaking so softly he had to strain to hear.

“… the rising sun always makes me think of your Da, little angel.  He’ll have to tell you the story himself, when he returns.  Dear god, may he come home to us safely.”

He must have sighed or made some involuntary noise, for his wife whirled around, a bundle of white cloth held to her chest.

“Jamie!” she shouted in amazement, startling a cry from the bundle.

“Sassenach,” he gulped, eyes jumping between her weary face and the source of the increasingly loud squalls that filled the room.

“You’re home!  Oh, thank heavens.”  She took in his appearance: exhausted, filthy and limping slowly across the expanse of floor that separated them.   “Are you alright?”

“Me?” he asked, incredulous.  “Aye, Sassenach.  I’ll do.”   He was close enough now that he could make out purple, wrinkled skin, split by the toothless slash that was surprisingly small for the amount of sound it emitted.

“Who’s this, then?” he asked tenderly, reaching out a shaking hand to rest first on his wife’s shoulder, then the squirming bundle.

“Jamie, I’d like you to meet… our daughter.”

“Daugh-ter?” his voice catching on the word.

“Yes,” she smiled at his thunderstruck face peering down at their child, who was quieting under the heat of his palm.  “She’s both impatient and stubborn, much like her Da, but she’s… well, she’s perfect, isn’t she?”

“Aye.  Aye, she is.  And ye, Sassenach?   Are ye alright?”  He kissed her tenderly, careful not to crush the babe between them.

“I am.  There’s the three of us now.”

***

Beannachdan, neach-siubhail - Greetings, traveler

mo ghille - my boy

[pandoriasbox]

Seeing Double - Dreamdragon Drabbles

(This takes place several years following Garnok's defeat. Az and Lisa are married and somewhere in their 30’s. They run a remote magical horse sanctuary up in Northern Mistfall.)

Az sipped at her coffee as she watched the small herd of stallions that made up her liberty team grazing in the pasture. It was early morning and both her and Lisa were still pulling themselves together before heading out to feed the horses breakfast. Said musician soon came over and joined her, a cup of her own coffee in her favorite mug. A arm wrapped around her waist and Az smiled as she felt the shorter woman’s head rest against her shoulder.

Through the morning mist however the redhead counted out an extra horse in the herd that hadn’t been there the night before. Her mind slowly clearing she recognized the forms of Nightfall and Moony but now that she thought on it…

“Hey Lisa… do you see two Smokeys?” Az mumbled, hearing the musician make a soft huh noise before lifting her head and blinking a few times.

“Two?” She squinted out across the foggy expanse between them and the pasture, taking another sip of caffeine before her eyes widened. Just as her wife had said there were indeed two black marwaris out in the field, one was grazing with his herd mates as the other stood head raised and now looking right at them. He looked identical to Smokey even at a distance. His bright eyes were two different colors and he had the same facial markings and singular sock as his doppleganger behind him. Curled ears flicked towards the two women watching before he seemed to prance away, teasing or tempting them over.

Az narrowed her eyes in suspicion, there was no way that was a normal horse. “I’m gonna go investigate, can you get started on feed without me?” Lisa nodded and planted a soft kiss to her lover’s cheek before finishing off her own coffee and heading in the opposite direction. Az pulled her coat on and left her half finished mug on the kitchen counter before walking over to the mysterious new horse.

The memory of the day she had gotten Smokey came back clearly, how she had been working with her horses at the circus trying to train them in liberty. Despite the group all being stallions they worked surprisingly well in tandem together as long as a mare wasn’t present. Though Az chalked it up to her wild whispering, with most onlookers having no idea she could connect to the small herd on such a deeper level. What was special about that day was she had a particular audience, namely Ydris sitting on the edge of the circus ring watching. He had been curious about this liberty work since she mentioned it and wanted to see for himself. The circus tent was a perfect training spot especially as she could use his help to simulate crowds without worrying about endangering anyone or making a fool of herself.

However the last thing she had expected was for the magician himself to suddenly create a new member for her little performative herd out of thin air. Smokey, official name being Smoke and Mirrors of course, was a beautiful, sleek and graceful marwari that as far as Az knew was “created” by Ydris. That she had doubts of but despite her prodding Ydris stuck firm to his claims that he certainly did not steal nor borrow the horse from anywhere. Az seeing as she didn’t want the poor stallion poofed away adopted him. She found Ydris was right though, the dark marwari did make an excellent performer and in a way rounded out the small herd perfectly. Az never intended to go big with her liberty work but it was great for bringing in some extra cash for the sanctuary as well as using it with her training and teaching.

She paused at the fence, watching as the strange new marwari did the same, stopping his prancing to once more to look directly at her. There was no way Ydris wasn’t involved in this but the real question was who exactly was this mystery stallion? She doubted he would come all the way out here to give her an exact copy of her newest performer. While rare, the pandorian did like to pop in occasionally and play tricks on the couple and their sanctuary inhabitants. Typically it was harmless and she could tell the other horses in the herd didn’t care about this random new horse. A couple of them looked up at his antics but the rest continued grazing.

Az let out a particular whistle, one that she and Lisa trained all their horses to come when called. The whole herd lifted their heads and she smirked as the new marwari spooked a little from the several stallions suddenly rushing past him. She petted the boys' noses and necks, praising them before letting them wander back out into the pasture. Just beyond the group she could see the new horse snort at her and shake his mane before turning around and throwing his nose up into the air. That definitely wasn’t a normal horse if he was snubbing her. She suppressed a laugh, managing to only snort herself behind her hand. A soft nose nudged her and she looked up to see a familiar curious face looking at her with brown and blue eyes. Smokey had moved closer, the most timid of the group he of course had hung back. She gently cupped his face and planted a kiss to his nose. This was definitely the real Smokey but that still left the other horse a mystery.

After a moment’s thought Az hopped over the fence and clambered up onto the tall thin horse’s back. “Come on boy, I got an idea...” She whispered and directed him back towards his duplicate who had his back turned to the pair. The two rushed up behind the supposed stallion as Az cried out his name. “YDRIS I KNOW THAT’S YOU!” Which caused the horse to jump into the air and the equine illusion to falter. Az let out a loud bark of laughter as she directed Smokey to turn back around and prance back to the pandorian now sitting on the ground glaring at her.

“Well now that’s not fair...” Ydris pretended to pout before getting up and brushing himself off. Smokey continued prancing and snorting softly though more out of nerves from his rider shouting from his back. Az slid off him and gently patted him, letting him race back to his herd mates. “I see you’ve been enjoying my gift though...” Ydris murmured as he watched the horse canter away.

“He’s a lovely gift but that doesn’t answer what you’re doing here so early in the morning...” She raised a brow and crossed her arms, looking back at the magician. “Don’t you have some zonies to tend to?” Az’s lips curled up into a smirk.

“Ah indeed I do but Xin manages just fine. I just wanted to pop in, you haven’t been to the circus at all since you received him.” The magician's face morphed into a pretend look of hurt as he laid his hand on his chest. “Is my marvelous circus not worth returning to now?”

Az gave him a gentle punch to his arm. “Oh it is you drama queen but we’ve been busy, come on, Lisa probably needs some help with feeding and then we can catch up over coffee.”

“Busy? What for?” Ydris’ brows rose in turn and he followed after his friend. The pair drifted off into their usual chatter that had been less and less often since the founding of the sanctuary. Az didn’t realize how much she had missed the nonsensical man’s presence and in the back of her mind swore she would need to visit more often for tea.

[stusbunker]

Feels Like the First Time

A Supernatural Fan-fiction

Featuring: Sam Winchester/ Rowena Macleod

Written for @spnkinkbingo​

Square Filled: Amnesia

Word Count: ~3400

Summary: Rowena takes Sam seriously and indulges them both.

Lovely Banner made by @thoughtslikeaminefield​

Warnings: 18yo+, memory wipe, smut, multiple orgasms, hinted public sex, size difference, magically enhanced sex, annoyed as hell Dean.

^*^*^

He sensed her presence before she said a word, a subtle tingle that started at the base of his neck and sank down his spine, pulling his shoulders back and head up. Sam stood tall; his eyes darting about until he was reassured what the instinctive alarm meant. In unnatural quiet, Rowena had draped herself against the doorframe, amused yet calculating as she watched them ready the ingredients. He couldn’t help but swallow at the sight of her, coiffed and elegant, something so out of place in his boots-on-the-ground, blood-under-the-fingernails kind of life.

               “Hello, boys,” Rowena purred, decadent eyes sinking into his very being.

               “Bout time you showed up,” Dean grumbled, dropping the spell book he had been using onto the table beside the muslin mat. Sam rolled his eyes at his brother and gave her a knowing shrug.

               “A bit surly aren’t ye? What’s a matter Dean, flask dry already?” Rowena bated, holding her hair to the side as she unwrapped the belt on her coat. Beneath it she was dressed in a rich maroon blazer, accented with gold, her tiny waist pinched by a matching pencil skirt. The cream-colored blouse was only a shade darker than her porcelain skin. Sam couldn’t help but wonder what was softer the satin or the parts of her it covered. Quickly, he pulled himself out of his thoughts and his eyes off their witch-to-the-rescue to help finish preparing the ingredients for the spell.

               Sam couldn’t get his hands to work properly, they were thicker now, the joints moving sluggishly. But, eventually, he had the dry ingredients diced as Rowena mixed the mucus and moss. Dean seemed to teeter over them, unsure what to do as he waited, constantly blowing or patting at his hair.

               “Alright, side-by-side you go,” she instructed with a curt nod. She paced in front of them as they settled in place, shallow bowl in her left hand as she began to recite the spell. She stopped in front of Sam first, eyes wide as she continued to chant, when he didn’t understand she beckoned him lower with a quick tug at his neck with her free hand. With a cackle from Dean, they both bent over, allowing her to cover their foreheads with the tar like concoction. At least, it didn’t smell like anything worse than a mud mask, Dean thought.

               Once Sam and Dean wore matching bands of sludge over their brows Rowena finished the spell, voice rising in pristine Latin. The moment the final word was spoken, they both fell to the floor, unconscious. Rowena daintily stepped over their bulk of muscle and limbs, to return her ingredients to their containers. She left the hunters where they lay and made her way to the library.

               An hour later, that is where Sam found her, sipping on Dean’s hidden stash of Scotch, reading. Being back in his own body again magnified every sensation, from the weight of his footsteps to the fit of his clothes. Though mostly it was the hunger, the raw aching need to touch and to take, to fill and be filled. Sam needed her and now that his hands were again his to control; he didn’t hesitate. Without a word he fell to his knees at her feet, hands resting beside her delicate shoulders on the wooden chair. If she was shocked by his antics, she didn’t let on. With a silent plea and panting breaths Sam huffed out his desperation with hazel intensity.

               Carefully setting her glass down, Rowena reached up, and crumbled the remnants of the spell from his face. Her tiny fingers were cold yet soothing, and Sam leaned into her touch, eyes closing in submission.

               She leaned forwards, rubied lips gliding passed his until she spoke hot and dark into his ear, “I don’t suppose you’d like to thank me in private?”

               Sam’s whole body shuddered, and a strangled groan was the only audible sound before he cupped her face and kissed her senseless. She broke away and snaked her hands behind his neck, locking him to her as she rubbed her nose against his. With matching grins and general disregard for Dean who was also righted, but stumbling out of the dungeon, they tucked away in Sam’s room for the foreseeable future.

               Hours later, they lay naked in each other's arms, Sam’s fingers threading through Rowena’s bright hair as she walked her nails over his chest. They sighed in the contented warmth, a mutual relief in ending up there at last. She was silently pleased that he was the one to instigate it after all his inane posturing, but he was a Winchester after all. Rowena nipped up his jaw as he faced the ceiling, lids heavy above a blissful smirk. His dimples were simply scandalous, of course she had to bite each one once they popped up again. Sam’s hand left her hair, sinking to drag her hip tight to his side. It simply fell back, teasing the cleft of her backside, one massive hand encasing her.

               “I can’t believe that actually happened,” Sam said softly, devilishly down his nose to her.

               “Don’t tell me you need a reminder already, Samuel, I’m too sore for that yet,” Rowena warned, eyes melodramatically aghast.

               Sam chuckled, and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “No, just, it’d been a long time comin’.”

               “Really now?” Rowena deadpanned. “I wonder why, Mister High-and-Mighty…”

               Sam swatted her ass, dragging her on top of him as he feigned innocence. “Well, you are completely out of my league.”

               Rowena’s bottom lip popped out in consideration before she nodded. “True, poor boy. What will I do with one such as you?”

               She began to rock along his reawakened cock, graceful glides of her supple skin against his, nails digging into his upper arms as she looked him over. Sam hummed appreciatively as she sank down onto him, hot and swollen. “Thought you were sore.”

               She raised an eyebrow in return. “I thought you knew better than to question me. I take what I want,” her teeth were tight over the last word, before she leaned forward and kissed Sam again. His hands gripped her ribcage, thumbs tracing beneath her perfect tits as he thrust back into her. She arched backwards with cantered grace, letting the depths of her magic pull their bodies into a final crescendo. It was maddening how amazing it was. Sam crashed in a state of euphoria that seemed too much for his mind to process. Maybe it was Rowena’s lingering magic, maybe it was just her, but Sam no longer believed Heaven existed on the other side of a sandbox.

               “Oh gods,” Rowena fell forward with a hearty moan, her chest firm and comforting, a slender smothering Sam welcomed. He nuzzled the edge of a nipple, pinning her narrow waist in a hearty hug.

               “That was—” Sam sputtered.

               “Aye,” Rowena agreed, smiling easily as she took her turn to play with his hair.

               “I don’t know about you, but I don’t think we can top that,” Sam sighed, delighted and dazed by their coupling. “Maybe it was because it was our first time—"

               “Hardly,” she tatted.

               “You know what I mean,” Sam stared at her suddenly serious, perhaps even a little self-conscious. Sam looked up at her with those puppy dog eyes that she couldn’t stand. “I’d do it all over again.”

Rowena gave a noncommittal reply before slinking her legs together and dropping to the floor. She dragged the comforter back onto the bed to cocoon inside as her body temperature evened. She let Sam hold her tight, finding his hand over her elbow oddly soothing as she drifted off with Sam’s natural furnace adding to her warmth. She awoke with the crack of dawn, and sinful inspiration.

^*^*^

               “So, she’d just bail on you? Kinda harsh,” Dean patted Sam’s back as he sat alone in the kitchen.

Sam turned to his brother in confusion. “Who bailed? What are you talking about?”

Dean stared at Sam and then shifted his weight on his feet and leaned in to really focus on him. “Rowena? Witch? About yea-high?”

“Rowena? Why would Rowena be bailing on me? I haven’t seen her in weeks,” Sam laughed awkwardly. “You okay, man? Still drunk maybe?”

Dean swallowed a mouthful of scalding hot coffee and choked. Once he could get the words out, he came back at Sam, “Trying to play it sly, really?! After the fucking show you guys put on last night. I think I went deaf in this ear trying to drown you guys out.”

“Dude, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam tried not to laugh, but Dean’s absurd aggression over the impossible implication of hooking up with Rowena made it difficult.

“Listen, you don’t want to admit to getting walked out on, fine. But I have just one question. Carpet match the drapes?” Dean’s eyebrows pitched over his mug. Sam stood up without an answer, shaking his head at his brother’s asinine inquiry.

^*^*^

               Their next case, Rowena appeared out of the woodwork, sashaying into the crime scene with credentials from Scotland Yard and a mean streak a mile long. The locals were falling all over themselves with ma’ams and manners. Dean was not amused, especially when Sam’s voice dropped and got exponentially clumsier whenever she glanced his way.

               “Why are you here?!” Dean snapped once he was left alone with her at the morgue.

               “Hello, Rowena. Nice to see you again. Thanks for getting our heads back in our bodies after we blundered it up! Like always,” Rowena retorted, doing a horrible mockery of Dean’s voice.

               Dean sighed, waiting for her rant to run its course. He read over the medical examiner’s report before pulling back the sheet on the latest victim, noticing intricate tattoos on the insides of each wrist.

               “Seriously, what’s your angle? This case barely hit our radar, what’s it to you?” Dean pressed.

               “I’m not the culprit, if that’s what you mean to say!” Rowena primped, tisking at Dean as he continued to look over the body.

“Got something to say, spit it out,” Dean snipped from across the room.

Rowena shrugged dramatically. “It’s nothing, dear. Just a wee bit of ectoplasm along the nasal passage and defensive wounds along one side of the body. But I’m sure a lifelong hunter, a professional of your caliber, noticed such things.”

Dean double flashed his phone’s flashlight up the guy’s nose to find Rowena correct, his head slumped in defeat. He called Sam at the victim’s house, in the process trying not to let Rowena out of his sight. “We got ecto on the vic.”

“Vengeful spirit, huh,” Sam thought aloud. “Okay, well, meet back at the motel? Figure out who we gotta burn?”

“Sounds good. Hide the china though, Glinda hasn’t gone back to Oz,” Dean lamented.

“Whatever you say,” Sam agreed.

^*^*^

               Rowena appreciated a man that could handle physical labor, watching Sam dig the rocky grave was quite a sight. Especially since he was always more the studious type, though she knew firsthand what kind of power his body held. And she wasn’t done with him. The air seemed to hum around them as they watched Dean set the bones on fire, Sam glancing down at her as she reached up to his hair, pulling away dead grass from his efforts. Her dark eyes reflected the flames and Sam lost all sense of control, he crashed into her, mouth open and hands tugging. Dean didn’t even bother complaining, he just walked away as Sam pinned her against a tree. He let Sam walk back to the motel for that traumatizing visual.              

^*^*^

               Their third first time was after a long case when Rowena hadn’t been able to counteract the aftermath of another witch’s botched spell. Visibly shaken over her unexpected shortcomings, Sam held her tight as she tried not to cry. His large hand trailed over her back in languid motions, warm and soothing.

               “You did what you could, no one blames you,” Sam murmured.

               “I bloody should be able to clean up after an amateur, Samuel. I’ve been doing this for so long, maybe I am getting rusty,” she trailed off, not meaning to continue the trail of thought aloud.

               “Hey, look at me?” Sam demanded, pulling her face up towards his with a whisk of his fingertips over her jaw. “You are as sharp as ever. Don’t let someone else’s mistakes take away from what you are.”

               “And what’s that, hmm?” Rowena hummed, eyes sparkling against Sam’s intense affirmation.

               “The most badass witch I have ever—” Sam huffed until his face broke open into a grin of a much younger man. “You’re amazing, you know that. I don’t have to tell you.”

               She tightened her fists into his shirts. “But it sounds so much better when you say it, dear.”

               Sam wiped away a stray tear that had escaped her controlled façade, thick thumb tracing her sharp cheekbone until they fell into a breath of a kiss. Tender and timid.

               “I didn’t figure you’d be a gentle one,” Rowena teased, pressing against him in urgency. They moved in a trance of silent adoration and gentle longing towards Sam’s room. There, they went slowly, lips and hands exploring each other in layers. The hunger grew in his eyes as he saw each fresh strip of flesh, pale and ageless against her overstated lingerie. He kissed down her taut stomach, stubble burning as he tore away the delicate fabric keeping him from tasting her at last. He sank between her thighs as a pilgrim at a prayer rail, gracious and pleading. Swearing oaths and praising her name. She fell apart flushed with emotion; uncertain she could continue such games.

               Sam tucked her into his side, holding her close as he sank into her. Filling her without his lips, eyes or hands ever leaving her skin. She writhed beneath him, keening every version of his name, shaking as he grunted into her hair, sweet nothings that meant more than anything had before. His hand splayed over her heart as he found his release, her name a promise on his lips.

               She woke him with her twisted smile teasing him until he opened his eyes, her nimble fingers dwarfed by his length. He lay back and watched her work, yesterday’s makeup fading onto a somehow younger looking face. Her ancient eyes couldn’t fool him though, they poured out the things she hadn’t said, giving Sam much more than the sweet pulse of her tongue could offer. His throat bobbed as he clenched his jaw, straining as she took him deeper, cupping his balls as her wordless syllables pulled him over the edge in the still morning air.

               Rowena climbed up his body, leaning back against the pillows in signature refinement as Sam groaned and stretched his waking limbs. He kissed her cheek before heading to relieve himself, lingering on the sight of her in his bed. She drank in his proud smirk before burying herself back into his sheets. He woke her late in the morning, with a strong cup of tea and a shy smile.

               “So, Dean’s gone for a few hours, running errands. I don’t really know what you do for fun, but I was kind of hoping we could spend some time together?” Sam stood with his hands in his pockets, waiting for Rowena to blow him off completely.

               Gracefully she set her cup on his desk. She stood, tugging at the neck of his tee shirt so it fell to the back of her knees. “Sam, my idea of fun is precisely what you’ve spent your life fighting against. I’m a witch. You’re a hunter.”

               “What are you saying?” Sam crossed his arms over his chest, straightening to his full height. “Are you telling me that you didn’t want this?”

               “No!” She said firmly, turning away. “Perhaps--- it was just all just well and good. Truly, the best. But—I’ve not been honest with ye. And I don’t think you’d want me taking up your free time if you knew everything.”

               “Rowena, what did you do?” Sam relaxed as she dropped back to his bed, looking almost childlike in his shirt, hands gripping the edge of the mattress.

               “It was something you said, the first time. The real first time, a sheoid,” she leaned into each word, eyes pleading for his patience.

               “What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam sank beside her, anger and curiosity battling within him.

               “Last night wasn’t the first time I’ve shared your bed. You said you wished we could do it all over again and I thought—” Rowena couldn’t help but smile at the memory, but her voice stumbled once she saw the pain in his eyes.

               “You tricked me,” Sam sighed.

               She turned to face him, pulling his hand into her lap, snugly in her own. “Just a wee memory patch, I can take it away if you’d like?”

               “How many?” Sam said evenly, glaring slightly into her eyes.

               “How many patches or how many bouts? You need to be more specific,” Rowena teased, tongue clipping each word out.

               Sam’s eyes bulged, inhaling deeply through his nose. “Both.”

               “Just two patches, but it was quite a few rounds. I dare say your stamina is—” Rowena started to gush, blowing out her appreciation as she watched Sam squirm.

               “You’re gonna fix my memories, but I need to know one thing before you go digging in my head again.” Sam pointed at her with his free hand.

               “Alright then, out with it,” Rowena rolled her eyes, leaning back to rest on her hands, crossing her bare legs at him.

               “What made you stop? You could have kept leading me along, having your way with me and wiping the slate clean. But something was different today. Why?” Sam’s voice pulled her apart, his eyes intense and knowing. He challenged her in a way only he could and she hated him for it.

               She chewed on her tongue before making a pathetic offer. “I could just leave them lie. You’d be none the wiser and I could be on my way.”

               Sam shook his head at her, the air thick as she felt the remnants of her emotional walls drift away on the breeze.

               “You! You, stupid moose. You come in here with tea, proper strength and sugars and then you stand there, like you do. Tall and offering up your day, like some doaty loun.” Rowena groans and presses her hands to his temples, frustrated she kept going.

               “Because I’m done pretending, Sam. I don’t want you to forget. Satisfied?”

               Sam held her wrists, and searched her eyes, before he could say anything, she kissed him. All of her inhibitions and pretense left on the floor beside her gown. She kissed him like it would be the last time, but he didn’t let her go. He pulled her onto his lap until neither one could breathe.

               “Do it.” Sam leered out of the tops of his eyes. “Before you make me forget again.” He winked at her then. She began muttering under her breath, nails digging into his scalp as she peeled away the layers dulling his memories. It was over in less than a minute. Sam’s eyes slammed closed, too many sensations flooded his system as he remembered pulling splinters out of his knuckles, unspoken for sore muscles and jaw falling into place along their lost timeline.

               “There. Good as new?” Rowena waited for Sam to reply.

               “You fixed us. Why would you hide that?” Sam wondered aloud. Rowena tried to shrug it off, standing as she collected her clothing.

               “Hey—I’m not mad,” Sam pulled her back to him, holding her waist as she stood between his feet. “Don’t do that ever again, but I’m good, if we're good?”

               “We as in—” Rowena grumbled.

               “Us,” Sam nodded infectiously, dimples pulling her from her shell. She rolled her eyes and huffed defiantly.

               “Fine. You want a fecking hen, Samuel. You have one. Happy?” Rowena pushed him playfully.

               “Yup,” Sam pulled her back with him, popping the p. She giggled against his lips as he tucked her hair out his way.

               Later that day, Dean returned, startled to find Sam and Rowena reading on the couch together. She had her hair back and barely any makeup on, but the way Sam was looking at her, Dean didn’t point out the shift. A glib ‘finally’ his only celebration.

^*^*^

[spackeets-written-madness]

Of Monsters and Men

The Kingdom of Fife was quiet, so Ser Proletius and his Knights of Crail spread throughout the kingdom to help the people more directly. Proletius had gone to the town of Enest, surrounded by thick forest to see if they had any problems. Turned out that they had a monster problem that needed solving.

On Ao3!

Warning ahead: I got slightly discriptive with describing corpses, and battle

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ser Proletius and his Knights of Crail had been out in the Kingdom to patrol some of the towns and villages to secure then as well as the cities since everything had been a bit quiet. Since they were only patrolling towns, they didn’t need many knights to secure them and had chosen to go in pairs of two or three; except if you’re the Grandmaster who went to the forest town of Enest on his own with only his unicorn as his companion. He would’ve brought Farcry, but the eagle was simply too big to land in the tightly packed forest that surrounded Enest. 

He had been on the road to Enest for a few days now and could now see it in the distance, his unicorn had seen it too for e quickened eir’s pace so that they could get to the town before nightfall as the sky began to darken. As they cantered along the road, they passed a portion of the forest that was felled, a good half-acre, in fact, was simply, gone. It stunned both Proletius and the unicorn enough that e slowed eir’s canter to a trot, walk then full stop to take in the damage.

Normally seeing felled trees or plains isn’t too odd especially near farming towns, but this area is very heavily forested (and he didn’t know that there had been approved logging in this area) so this had been odd to Proletius. What was odder still were the corpses suspended and intertwined in tree roots that pushed their way through the earth, the bodies crushed and pierced. The eyes and faces of the corpses were picked away by ravens and other carrion feeders. In Proletius’s line of work, seeing corpses isn’t rare nor is adding to the corpse count, what was odd about this was the fact it looked like nature itself fought back against the carnage.

The Grandmaster made a ‘hmm’ noise in the back of his throat as he surveyed what happened. He then looked to his right towards Enest a few kilometres in the distance. “I suppose we’ll find out more in the town,” he said aloud.

The unicorn snorted in agreement, turned around and started back up towards the town in a faster canter, but not quite a gallop. With the unicorn’s pace, they got to the town quickly and entered it, heading straight for the inn and had stopped in front of it.

Proletius barely managed to dismount from his unicorn when he heard wheezing and puffing from behind him. He finished getting off the unicorn, turned around to be met with a rather rotund and overweight man with auburn hair, dressed plainly, with a blue cloak and doubled over to catch his breath. Waddling up to stand next to the man was a mastiff-sized wingless dragon: a drake-hound, and a green one at that. The Grandmaster waited for the man to catch his breath.

The man caught his breath and stood straight, he took the time to brush himself off and gather his nerves before he spoke to Ser Proletius. “Evening Ser Knight! I am Munroe, the local logger overseer, that came down to this town about a little over a week ago to clear out some of this wood,” he started to explain.

The Grandmaster had interrupted whatever Munroe was going to say next. “Enest supplies the kingdom with mushrooms and truffles, not wood,” he said.

Munroe blinked and floundered. “Well, Uhm, not yet the town won’t be. I came to change that and brought some men with me from my village to help out, locals haven’t been helping us, which isn’t a problem, the problem is that three days ago a monster that slaughtered half my men and rendered the rest too afraid to work!” the man finished, a bit flustered.

“A monster? See anything that would make you think that?” Proletius asked. Something had seemed off about this man.

“Oh, I wasn’t there, but I heard it from the surviving men - in the midst of fearful babbling mind you - that they were attacked by wolves and ravens, the men ran, and the ones that apparently didn’t get away in time were crushed by tree roots that had risen from the ground. I went down to the location awhile ago. So yes, it was a monster,” Munroe expanded as he patted the drake-hound at his side.

Proletius thought back to the sight he saw back before the village, the empty forest floor with the corpses of lumberjacks crushed in intertwining roots, their bodies covered in wolf bites and their eyes pecked out by ravens. It did look like a monster had attacked them, but why would it attack now? Proletius decided not to ask Munroe, he only arrived a few weeks ago, he wouldn’t know. “Thank you, Munroe, I’ll look into it,” the Knight said respectfully to the man.

“Please try to hurry, Ser, I don’t mean to rush a distinguished knight such as yourself, but I fear that the rest of the men may leave the town if the threat of this monster keeps up,” the overseer said.

Proletius gave a curt nod and Munroe waddled off with his drake-hound hot on his heels. The Grandmaster turned back around to face the inn that was his original objective and looked at the squat wooden building that sat upon a foundation of carved stone, the sign to this inn had a goblet with a crack in it and words that read ‘The Cracked Chalice’. He checked to make sure that his unicorn was alright and walked up the three steps to get inside. The barkeep will have more information he figured.

When the Grandmaster walked through the door, he was met with a remarkably clean establishment, the tables were well taken care of, the chairs and stools had some furs on the seats to add a bit of comfort and it was well lit with candles. There were a few patrons already seated at some of the tables and bar that turned to look at Proletius when he came through the door, all a bit in awe that the Grandmaster himself had come to their village. He walked up to the bar and sat down at one of the stools in front of it, his armour clanking and rubbing against itself as he sat down, his sword on his hip bumped slightly against the bar.

The barkeep saw Proletius walk in and had waited for him to get situated before he spoke to the Grandmaster. “Evening, Ser, what brings you to Enest?” he greeted.

“Making sure that everything is alright in the kingdom. Now I heard from a man called Munroe that you have a monster problem?” Proletius said.

The barkeep and several of the patrons grumbled about Munroe under their breath. The barkeep then spoke up. “We never used to have a problem with nature before Munroe and his men came to fell our woods,” the barkeep began, “but they didn’t listen to our druid when she told them to clear the woods she marked, because of animal homes and the like, and they didn’t listen, felled some trees not where she marked and got what was coming to them.”

“So even you don’t know anything about this monster?”

The barkeep shrugged his thick shoulders. “Nope. Though I saw it’s carnage, everyone did. Some kind of nature beast or spirit that they pissed off. Best to talk to Alina about it.”

“Alina?”

“The druid I mentioned earlier. She knows nature. Though it’s best you go visit her in the morning, she doesn’t like visitors this late,” the barkeep advised.

Proletius turned around to look out the window and sure enough, the sky was a lot darker than earlier. Well, he should probably sleep then. “I’ll grab a room for the night, then. As well as something to eat and drink,” the Grandmaster said.

“Sure thing, what would you like to drink?”

“Mead.” came the Grandmaster’s answer. He figured it’d be okay to have one drink.

The barkeep turned around to the counter behind him and grabbed a cup and a bottle of mead poured it into the cup, and set it down in front of the Grandmaster. “Something to eat? The cook has prepared a nice steak with some mushroom gravy for the day,” the barkeep offered for something to eat.

One of the things Proletius liked when he travelled the kingdom is trying the different foods of the villages and towns. “That sounds perfect, I’ll have that,” the Grandmaster said as he sipped at his drink.

The barkeep nodded and walked to the back to give Proletius’s order to the cook. The barkeep stuck his head out to check on the front before ducking back to attend to something else. This left Proletius alone, which he didn’t mind of course.

While he waited for his meal, he thought about the things he saw and started to pile the evidence about what this ‘monster’ might be. Admittedly he wasn’t sure, monster hunting wasn’t his expertise. Now, goblin and chaos wizard hunting, on the other hand, was in his expertise. He was brought out of his thoughts by his food being placed in front of him, that brought his focus to enjoying some food.

The barkeep stood back behind the bar and looked at Proletius as the Grandmaster ate. “So, what are you going to do when you talk with Alina?” he asked. He sounded concerned for the druid’s well-being.

“Callum, let the knight finish his food,” someone else at the bar scolded the barkeep.

Proletius simply chewed his mouthful and swallowed before he answered. “Talk to her. Listen to her, see if she spoke and negotiated with Munroe, try to help negotiations. This monster issue sounds like a relatively easy fix,” he said. At least, he hoped that it was an easy fix.

“Ah, I see. Sorry, she’s been a big help here ever since she moved here five years ago. Helping us fell the right trees and not change the landscape drastically in the process. She’s not like most other druids,” Callum - the barkeep - said. 

Proletius had been quietly eating his food while Callum talked. He swallowed his last mouthful. “What do you mean ‘not like other druids’?” he questioned.

“You’ll see.”

“Is it that hard to explain?” Proletius asked in a slightly joking tone.

Callum chuckled. “Well, no, it’s just easier to see what I mean when you actually meet her.”

“I see.” Proletius went back to his food in silence and Callum left him alone to finish the meal and sleep. The Grandmaster ate his food, paid for both the meal and the room and left to the said room after the keys were given to him.

                                                            ***

The Grandmaster slept well that night and awoke to the sun shining in his face, which, for a knight is not unusual but no less annoying. He got up and got ready for the day, washed his face a bit, got dressed and donned in his armour, that kind of thing. After he did that, he went to the bar to grab a quick bite to eat before he went to talk to Alina. Callum talked to him a bit while he had eaten.

After that, the Grandmaster asked Callum where Alina lived and went on a nice walk to the druid’s house to go talk to her. When he approached the house (which was five minutes off the outskirts of the village) it looked like many of the other houses in the village: squat, wooden and small. The differences to this house where the garden beds, the many ground-bird coops and feeding stations. Yep, this was a druid’s house. Proletius walked up to the door and gave it a good loud knock since he heard something fall inside the house.

“Just come inside!” came a feminine voice in answer to the knock.

Proletius nudged open the door and stepped inside to be met with a lot of red birds and a bit of chaos. There were birds on the rafters, the sills, everywhere and they looked very similar to ravens in size and shape though were a brilliant shade of red with the tail and wingtips gradient to blue, all the feathers had an iridescent sheen with the beaks and feet of the birds being yellow.

A young-looking woman wearing a plain beige shirt, brown pants and slippers came into view carrying a box with what looked to be yarn-nests in her slender yet lithe arms. Her build wasn't small or terribly thin, but it wasn't muscular either. Her long blonde hair was haphazardly brushed and pulled into a loose tail, her green eyes focused on the birds and not her guest. She set the box down and began to hand each bird pair a nest from the box, the pair flying off through the window and the next pair stepped up. They were queueing. 

Proletius could see that she was immediately busy and stood near the door to wait for her to finish her job. He looked around the room he stood in, there was a small round table to his left, a desk near the table with piles of loose paper scattered on it, herbs, a mortar and pestle, other plants, a few loose feathers and quills. Above the desk were a couple of shelves that held books and a few potted plants.

“Here, Big Miss Muffet wants to go outside,” the lady said as she passed briefly by Proletius and shoved something into his hands to no doubt put outside. She still didn’t seem to notice him as she disappeared behind a corner in the back to get something. (Probably more nests, since she ran out of the ones in the box she got out.)

Proletius looked down at his hands to see a decently sized tarantula in them that the druid gave him. The Grandmaster stared at it for a few moments before he leaned down and let the spider crawl outside the open door. When he stood back up, he saw the woman standing in the opening she went into, staring at him. “Alina, I presume?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes… Sorry for pushing a spider into your hands, I thought you were someone else,” she apologised. She held a box with more nests in her arms.

Proletius waved a hand dismissively, “It’s alright, I’m alright with spiders. I’m Ser Proletius, Grandmaster of the Knights of Crail. I wanted to ask you a few questions about the apparent nature spirit or monster that attacked some of Munroe’s men,” he said, getting to the point.

Alina looked pissed at the mention of Munroe’s name. She set the box that was in her arms on the countertop with a bit more force than what was necessary. “I told him and his men not to cut down that area, I even showed and marked an area for them to fell because those trees were all old. But no, he chose the young trees that a critically endangered bird species were nesting in, or rather, managed to adapt to nesting in,” she said with annoyance.

Proletius looked at the red ravens that helped each other get the nests out of the box. “Are those the critically endangered birds?” he asked for clarification.

“Yeah, Pheonix Ravens, thought to have been pushed to extinction fifty years ago but I found two dwindling and barely surviving flocks. I’ve been trying to help them adapt to living in a different area, but it’s not easy. Nature often tends to be stubborn,” she said exasperated. “I’ve spent the last three days trying to help them after Munroe felled the trees that they managed to call home.”

The Grandmaster looked at the red birds in surprise.  Even he thought that the Phoenix Ravens went extinct. It made him consider telling the King about it. “Even I thought these birds went extinct, I’m glad they didn’t. I can help you talk to Munroe to work something out and I can even talk with the king to make them protected to help them,” Proletius said.

Alina’s tired face suddenly lit up. “You will?” at his nod, she couldn’t hold back a smile. “Thank you! If you let me tidy myself up a bit more, we can go talk to the man now?” she asked.

“Sooner is better. I can wait outside for you,” Proletius offered.

“Oh no, it’s alright, you can wait in here if you want. I should have some biscuits if the birds didn’t eat them all that is,” she said off-handed and reached for a jar on the counter next to the nest box. She opened the ceramic jar to check inside it. “Oh nope, they didn’t eat all of them,” she commented as she set the jar down on the table and put the lid back on before a Phoenix Raven tried to take a biscuit.

Ser Proletius shook his head at her offer for him to stay in her house. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ll wait outside for you. I do want a biscuit though,” he said. The Grandmaster picked up the jar to get a biscuit, upon doing that, he felt a weight descend on his right shoulder and twisted his head to see a phoenix raven looking at him. “I get the feeling that if I open this, this one with dive for it.”

Alina looked a bit done with the antics of the phoenix ravens. “Yes, she will.”

Proletius had an idea. He put the jar down, reached into his pocket and brought out a bit of jerky (a treat he normally gave to Farcry), broke a decent sized bit off the strip and gave that to the raven. The piece was a bit too large for the raven to swallow whole which gave the Grandmaster enough time to take a biscuit out of the jar and eat it. He managed to do all that while the raven was trying to break the jerky upon his shoulder in order to eat its snack.

When the raven realised that the Grandmaster tricked it into eating a healthier snack and not the sugar biscuit it wanted, it looked at him very offended. Alina had laughed at the Grandmaster tricking one of the phoenix ravens. After the raven had gotten off Proletius, the Grandmaster went to wait outside while Alina made herself more presentable.

Proletius didn’t have to wait long for the druid to make herself more presentable since she had come outside wearing the same things as before, but her hair was neatly brushed and braided, laying against her neck. She also had a staff that was made of simple wood, the top of the staff was gnarled and twisted like a dead tree. "Are you ready?" the Grandmaster asked just to be sure. 

She nodded. "Yes, I am, let's go find Munroe and talk to him. The nature spirit should stop killing his men if we manage to negotiate with him," she said. Alina did not mention what would happen if they didn’t.

Proletius nodded and both set off back to the village side by side to talk to Munroe. They walked in silence for the first half of the trip while they looked for Munroe after they got into the village. 

"So what brings the Grandmaster to this little town?" Alina asked. 

"The kingdom has been quiet. No problems from the neighbours, no chaos wizards, no goblin issues. So I told the knights to secure the kingdom by assisting the people with their problems, and I myself went out as well," Proletius answered. 

"I see. Oh, there he is!" Alina pointed towards Munroe, the man's figure had set him apart from the norm. 

Both the Grandmaster and the druid made their way to the overseer, who had turned to face them. When he saw that Alina was with Proletius his whole body seemed to huff in annoyance. 

"I see that you went to talk with the druid…" Munroe said when they got closer. 

"The monster that attacked your men was a nature spirit, defending the loss of habitat of critically endangered birds," Proletius started. "She tells me that she talked to you and even showed you a place to log. Why did you choose to cut down the trees in the unmarked area?" 

Munroe huffed. "Those trees were old, young trees are better." 

"For what? Older trees have a lot more wood in them to be used for everything!" Alina argued. 

"Furniture requires the delicacy and lightness of the young wood!" he countered. 

Alina's features hardened. "And why so picky? Wood is wood, older trees have already lived their lives. They are suited for home building or furniture!" 

Proletius could see that this would only escalate and so interrupted the pair before they continued. "Enough! We came to you, Munroe to reach an agreement. You want wood, Alina has already shown that she is willing to help as long as you listen to her," he said with a slightly commanding tone. 

Proletius's command caused both to shut up and listen to him. They both shared a glance with each other. 

"Well, now that you say it like that, I suppose that I can agree with the druid and will go remove the trees she marked herself," Munroe relented. "And the birds?" 

"They will be fine. I'm headed back to the capital and will tell the King about the surviving Phoenix Raven flocks. They will be protected," Proletius said to Munro's concern. 

Munroe faced Alina and held out a hand to shake on it. "I suppose that we have come to a deal?" he asked. He had a kind smile while he took the deal. The drake-hound that was always at his side, wandered off. 

Alina took his hand in her own and shook it. "Yes, we have a deal," she said, something felt off to her though. 

Proletius nodded, outwardly glad that they had gotten along, but he felt like something would go wrong. "Glad that this will be solved and no more monster or nature spirit problems for you, Munroe," he said. 

"Of course! I will deal with selling older wood, but I'll live. Now, Ser, you're probably going to head off soon, aren't you?" Munroe asked. 

The Grandmaster nodded. "If there's not much more for me to do now, I was going to head back now." 

"Of course! I won't keep you any longer, Ser," Munroe said, letting the knight know that he can head off. 

"There is nothing more I need from you, either, thank you," Alina said. 

"Well, farewell to you both and I hope all will be well," Proletius said, then called for his unicorn. The unicorn was quick to answer the whistle and stood next to the Grandmaster to allow him to get on. He climbed onto the unicorn's back, and both headed off to the exit of the village. 

                                                            ***

Proletius and the unicorn had been three hours away from the village when the Grandmaster’s gut feeling got worse, even his unicorn slowed eir’s walk and tilted e’s ears to listen to the forest. Ser Proletius scanned the bushes and drew out his blade just in case. 

Both had heard a tree suddenly snap and fall. It crashed and shattered where the pair had been. They were no longer there because the unicorn had leapt forward when they heard the suspicious crack. 

An arrow flew out from the bushes but was deflected by Proletius’s sword just as several people, armed with swords jumped out of the bushes and rushed the pair. Both the unicorn and the Grandmaster focused on the people that attacked them.

A green blur tackled Proletius of his unicorn and onto the ground. The knight lost grip on his sword when he fell but managed to use his armoured bracers to stop the drake-hound’s powerful jaws from going around his neck. It still hurt like hell when the jaws snapped down on the metal around his arm and he punched the animal’s nose to get it to let go. Hang on, he recognised this green and the drake, this was the same animal that was at Munroe’s side. The bastard had staged an ambush. He knew something had felt off.

He managed to throw the drake-hound off after he had stunned it and got up, retrieved his sword and went to help his unicorn battle the men that crowded around it. The Grandmaster struck the men down, even as a few more had come from the bushes.

A howl echoed from the forest in a radius and suddenly a pack of wolves, as well as a flock of ravens, exploded from the foilage to attack the men that assaulted the Grandmaster. That made the remaining men focus on the animals as well as flushing out the rest - including Munroe - from the bushes. There had been a lot of screaming from the men as they got attacked by the wolves and ravens.

Munroe fired his crossbow at a few of the ravens - which killed them - then took aim at Proletius and fired, but the bolt was deflected into one of his men. “No hard feelings Ser, but I can’t let you go report to the king on this,” he said with his familiar smile and good-natured attitude.

Proletius was not pleased. “I will still go to the king about this and will now include how you had attacked a Knight and the Grandmaster. Death will not be easy for you, Munroe,” the Grandmaster warned.

Munroe took aim again in answer and prepared to fire. Proletius closed the gap quickly, disarmed the crossbow from the man’s arms and prepared to engage the man as the overseer brought out a dagger. The drake-hound also bounded towards the pair and leapt at Proletius again, though the Grandmaster dodged it. 

Roots broke from the dirt and entangled the men, crushing and piercing them - or in Munroe’s case, simply restrained him - which caused the battle to die down as a woman wearing leather armour, a staff, familiar braid, hair colour and eyes walked out from some roots herself. Alina faced Munroe. “I knew you were up to something, Munroe,” she said bitterly.

Proletius looked at the roots, the birds and wolves while he checked on his unicorn. He thought back to the scenery he had seen yesterday. So that was her. She was a powerful druid that’s for certain.

Munroe had a mixture of fear and frustration written on his face. “Surprised that you didn’t call me a rat, monster!” he insulted.

“That’d be an insult to rats,” she countered back.

“You’re a powerful druid, Alina,” Proletius complimented, ignoring Munroe.

She turned to him and smiled. “Thank you. Thank you for also not listening to Munroe,” she said.

Proletius nodded. “It’s no problem, something didn’t feel right about it and I did what I had to,” he said.

“So what about him?” Alina pointed her staff at Munroe who glared daggers at both the druid and the knight.

“Well, I don’t have the necessary equipment needed to arrest him, so I’ll need to get back to the capital for that,” he mentioned, then looked around at the roots. “Think you can hold him in someplace temporary until I get back?”

“Of course I can.”

Proletius turned towards his unicorn and got back onto eir’s back. He looked at Alina. “Thank you. Also, next time something like this happens again, get us,” he advised.

Alina grinned. “Certainly, but come quicker next time so I don’t have too,” she countered. The druid then remembered something, “wait, Ser, did Bush’s teeth break your armour and skin?” she asked, the green drake-hound sat obediently at her side. The drake then snorted.

Proletius checked the bracer that faced the brunt of the bite, while it was malformed a bit and punctured in places, he didn’t feel any skin broken. “It didn’t get past my armour enough to break the skin, why?” he asked.

“Forest drake-hounds have deadly venom, they use it for defence,” she answered, relieved.

The Grandmaster made an ‘ah’ sound, glad that he dodged that arrow. “Thank you for the information. What will you do with the drake-hound?”

“I’m going to keep him,” she said proudly. “And rename him, he needs a better name than ‘Bush’. Probably Surthian.” She gave the drake a few good scratches while Munroe vocalised his annoyance at that. He was left ignored.

The Grandmaster shrugged. “Fair enough. Farewell, Alina, I’ll be back later to pick up Munroe.”

Alina nodded. “Yes, see you then, Ser Proletius.”

Both then parted ways, more permanently this time, Alina took Munroe back to the town and Proletius went back to Dundee to report to Angus McFife I about what had happened at Enest.

[kbstories]

Here’s the promised update to my Charles/Arthur (Charthur?) fic:

Only Lost The Night

Tags: Angst, Blood and Injury, Aftermath of Torture, Slow Burn

Major spoilers for Chapter 3, specifically the mission “Blessed Are the Peacemakers”.

>>Read on AO3

<<First Chapter

Three days.

Patrolling the edge of the woods, Charles' gaze turns northward, and not for the first time.

Three days ago, he stood guard at the very same spot, raising a hand in silent farewell to the group of three leaving camp: Dutch, easily recognizable by his snow-white Horse and booming voice; Micah, bowed low, handling the reins with too-rough hands; and Arthur, caught between the two and shoulders visibly tense, even from afar...

A glance of striking blue filled with concern and a grim nod, that's all Charles got before Arthur's brown mare had galloped past and they were out of sight. Hours later, the rumors of a possible truce between them and the O'Driscolls finally reached him, and when Charles' eyes met Javier's over the dwindling firelight, he only saw his own worry reflected.

This is a mistake.

The words went unsaid, as they often did as of late. Instead, Charles tossed and turned in his cot, and paced the perimeter for three days–

In the dead of night, only two had returned – and Charles gave up on sleep altogether.

*

“Dutch.”

Calm, collected, neutral. Charles' indifferent mask can be nigh-impossible to read if he wants to – Arthur has teased him about it countless times, ya ain't foolin' me, though, smile bright and usually weary eyes glinting with quiet pleasure – and yet, Dutch's jaw instantly clenches with annoyance.

“Not now, Mr. Smith”, he says, dismisses him with a pointed look, but Charles doesn't budge. He's faced down raging bison, snarling wolves, storms and blizzards and a dizzying variety of human cruelty only those remaining of his people could attest to; nothing Dutch van der Linde could throw at him could be worse, short of death, and maybe not even that.

Then again, something tells him Dutch knows that, too.

“I volunteer–“

“–for more patrols, yes, if you feel like running yourself ragged, be my guest, Mr.–“

“–to lead a search party”, Charles finishes icily, hands linking behind his back to hide how they clench to fists. “I'm the best tracker we have. And Arthur's horse is too well-bred to be worth shooting. She'll lead us right to them.”

Dutch's expression hasn't moved a single inch from the aloof-slash-assertive air he surrounds himself with, and his voice is too forcibly amicable to be anything but. He steps closer, placing a firm hand on Charles' shoulder.

“My dear Charles, I'm afraid you have jumped to conclusions. Yes, things got a bit heated – but Arthur knows what he's doing. He'll rejoin us when the dust has settled. Until then, I can assure you: He is safe.”

“Dutch...”

Fingers dig deeper, hard enough to hurt. The understanding smile on Dutch's lips turns forced.

“Enough, Charles. You have been with us a while now and put in commendable work. Arthur is a dear friend to you, so I'll let it pass this once. Don't make me regret it.”

Charles holds his gaze for a moment longer, nods, submits.

“Understood.”

Night falls, and Charles pulls himself silently into the saddle, leading Taima through the woods and out into the open with the silent presence of the moon as his only companion.

*

The rising sun casts dewy clarity over the planes lying ahead. Charles takes a deep breath, allowing himself a brief respite. The provisions he chews on go down without taste, merely fuel to keep his gears in motion for the difficult track ahead.

His mind doesn't, can't, rest. Not yet.

It's impossible not to be aware that Arthur has been gone half a week, now – and yes, maybe he is laying low and unharmed but Charles' gut feeling says otherwise, and in the long years he spent on his lonesome, his gut has never failed him.

Below him, Taima – finnicky at first from the rude awakening at an unusual time – finds a confident pace she can keep up for hours, exhaling in short bursts with every step. Charles rubs her favorite spot high on the crest of her mane.

With enough effort, he could convince himself this is just another hunt.

That's the thing about not being alone, though: Once you let people close, their presence grows familiar, and it is easy to forget how life was without them.

Charles scoffs. Right. There is no need to pretend this – his current predicament, the last three, no, four days, the past year – is a people-thing. Because it's not.

Keeping Dutch's gang at arm's length, not letting himself get too attached... It wasn't such a struggle until he started noticing how gentle Arthur handles new horses, even the skittish ones; how hands so adept at killing become nimble, almost graceful, provided little more than a pen and some scraps of paper; how the tension around his eyes eases with the first draw from a freshly-lit cigarette.

No. This is definitely an Arthur-thing, and Charles is powerless to stop it.

It was after the run-in with those bounty hunters weeks ago that Charles realized maybe... he doesn't have to. Now Arthur only has to manage to stay out of trouble and alive long enough for Charles to do something about it.

“C'mon”, he mumbles, letting Taima fall into a light canter. “Let's find that fool.”

Knowing where to start is the first crucial step of every hunt – fortunately, the only person seeing him sneak away was Javier, and from him Charles got the gist of what happened in low whispers. Dutch is gonna be pissed, he'd cautioned, shaking his head, bring him back or don't return at all, and Charles had given him a tight-lipped smile and said nothing.

The steep Heartland hills put Taima to work, and she's huffing and sweating by the time they reach the location Javier named. Charles dismounts stiffly, his thighs aching from riding and protesting all the more as he crouches down to inspect the ground.

Criss-crossing hoof prints, too many to tell them apart, relatively fresh. Good enough. He whistles for Taima to follow, and sets off.

*

Minutes blur into hours, and Charles has made his way further east when he finds Arthur's hat. He almost misses it, trampled and half-covered by dust and bits of grass as it is – for a moment, he just stares, heart twisting in his chest like a living thing.

Like the sky is blue and water is wet, Arthur always, always goes back for his hat.

“Fuck this”, Charles hisses. He's in the saddle and galloping ahead before he knows it, the reins in one hand and the hat pressed to his chest with the other. The tracks are easy to see, now: at least four, five horses passed through not too long ago, cutting straight through the landscape without regard.

Confidence, or recklessness? It doesn't matter; they'll regret it either way, and soon.

Up ahead, he can make out the Dakota River, glinting silver in the bright midday sun. A lone figure appears before it, outline hazy, almost hallucinatory in the heat. Charles squints, gathers Taima into a ball of tension beneath him, ready for anything–

Is that–?

“Arthur!”

They burst forth, the thundering of hooves and the beat of his heart mixing into one. Charles calls out again, cursing between clenched teeth because he's not reacting, why is he not–

“Morgan? Hey, say something you damn–“

The momentum carries them in a wide circle around the familiar brown mare and Charles holds his breath, catching sight of Arthur slumped over her neck and blood, lots of it, all over his back and the horse's shoulder, too.

Shit. Dyani looks ready to bolt, nostrils flared wide open and eyes near-frenzied with stress as she pants in loud bursts. Charles glances at her rider's precarious position, mind rushing a mile a minute – calm the horse, or grab Arthur first?

If he's alive, that is.

There's no time to panic; keeping the adrenaline pumping through his veins out of his voice, Charles soothes, “It's okay, Dyani”, pressing ever closer to grab the reins. The horse trembles in place, ears dancing from left to right. “Shh, girl, calm now. You're safe.”

He's got her by the second try, and coaxes Taima beside her, mindful not to squash Arthur in the process.

Please be alive.

With the horses' flanks touching, Charles reaches over and pulls, sliding back to drag Arthur's limp body into his own saddle. “Arthur?” – nothing, not even a groan or a strained breath, and blood readily soaks into his shirt as he holds him tight with an arm around his waist–

But there's a pulse too, beating weakly against his, and Charles clings to it with everything he's got, vowing never to let go.

*

The clear trickle turns red, then pink every time Charles wrings out the cloth.

Arthur lies on a hastily spread bedroll little ways up shore, on the first patch of dry grass Charles could find once he decided they're far enough away to risk a temporary camp. It's certainly not perfect – somewhat secluded from the main road by a line of bushes, it still leaves them wide open and vulnerable in many other aspects – but Charles'd rather fend off any trespassers than leave Arthur's wounds to fester uncontested.

Kneeling by his friend's side, Charles glances over the progress he's made. Dressed in worn, clean clothes he found in one of Arthur's saddlebags, days worth of blood, sweat and grime had given way to purple-green bruises in various stages of healing. Even now, with the worst of it tended to, Charles' lips thin to a tense line at the obvious signs of torture and malnourishment.

Fucking O'Driscolls.

Before, he'd been largely neutral towards this feud between Colm and Dutch – it happened long before his time in the gang, and wasn't as much of a problem then as it is now – but this happened on Charles' watch, and if Dutch isn't willing to avenge it...

Charles shakes his head. Nothing to be done about it, now.

The wound on Arthur's shoulder is his biggest concern; its edges are torn and only partly-cauterized, leaving it a welcome breeding ground for infection or worse. Having dealt with guns and the damage they can do all his life, Charles can imagine all-too-vividly what must've happened.

A bit further down and he'd be dead on the spot, goes through his mind, and not for the first time, he pauses to breathe.

The cloth leaks small rivulets down Arthur's discolored skin as Charles digs into the wound and twists, ignoring the weak moan coming from the downed man. Only when it turns into a soft plea that sounds sickeningly close to “stop” does Charles look up, caught utterly off guard by Arthur's feverish gaze on him.

“Charles...?”

Easing up on his shoulder, Charles leans into his field of view, cupping Arthur's flushed cheek with his not-bloodied hand. He tries not to think too much of the difference in body temperature.

“Yeah, it's me. Stay put, okay? You've been shot.”

Arthur blinks, slowly, resting his head against Charles' palm. “'s Dutch 'kay?”, he rasps, eyes closed and brows drawn tight against the pain. “Trap. 's a–”

“Dutch is fine”, assures Charles with a little too much force; calmer, he says: “Don't worry about anyone else, alright? Just... keep still, I'll get us out of here in no time.”

Arthur wheezes out, “'kay, boss”, and the trace of humor is so unexpected Charles laughs.

“Don't sass me, you crazy fool. I'm not the one who got himself captured, escaped, and rode dozens of miles while bleeding out.”

A wet chuckle. Arthur grimaces. “'s a talent, Charles. Stopped questionin' it long ago.”

“Doesn't stop me from worrying, though. Now shush, I'm almost done.”

The wound is as clean as it's going to get – Charles wraps it in generous amounts of gauze and hopes it'll hold for a few hours, at least. The horses should be good to go too, having spent the time grazing on every available tuft of grass around them.

Arthur has quieted down considerably, enough so that Charles thinks he's lost consciousness. When he buttons up his shirt, however, his lids flutter open again, squinting against the sun high in the sky.

Charles meets his questioning glance with a sympathetic wince. “We need to move. Want something for the pain?”

Arthur nods, too exhausted to speak. Carefully, Charles props him against his knee, holding him upright and letting him sip some whiskey within measured pauses. “Let's get this over with”, he mutters, whistling Taima over and trying not to aggravate any of Arthur's wounds as he manhandles him into the saddle.

Like before, he slides behind him, and with Dyani following dutifully, they set off up-stream.

Arthur falls into an uneasy sleep soon enough; Charles shifts to allow his head to rest against his shoulder. Listening to his rough panting, he tightens the steadying grip against his chest, gaze fixed on the far horizon.

>>Read on AO3

[the-crystal-muse]

♪

Send a “♪” for the Muse to sing part of a song the Mun has recently listened to. (Yes this is months old, but I completely forgot it until now. Whoops.)

    In the far reaches of Equestria, there is a village. It’s a small village, with very few ponies living there. If you were to look closely, you’d notice that almost everypony there was an earth pony. There was a unicorn or two, sure, and a couple pegasi, but not many. And if you took a look around, you’d notice that the land around the village was almost exclusively farmland, with a small marketplace in the center of the town, where vendors would sell their wares from stalls.

    If you took the path from the center of the village, you’d watch as the stalls gave way to houses, and the houses to farms, and the farms would wilderness. You’d see the grass grow longer and the trees become more populous. You’d notice, as the dirt road became thinner and began to move into the forest, a small sign that would tell you just how far you were from the closest town, and you’d realize that it would take a long road trip to get anyone on your hooves.

    And on that road, you’d see a filly. Young, no older than twelve most likely. She was pink, with a mane that was yellow, purple, and magenta that was pulled into a ponytail. Her wings fluttered quickly at her sides, the mere thought of what laid beyond the town’s borders being enough to get her mind worked into a frenzy.

    But she couldn’t go. She knew she couldn’t. The path was too long, she didn’t know where she’d end up. And her parents would worry for her, no doubt. But still, she couldn’t stop the longing in her heart that she always felt when she looked past the village and saw the vast unknown. Filled with other ponies and cities and princesses and all kinds of stuff. She felt an instinct to push herself forward, despite the danger, and venture into the unknown!

    But...She couldn’t.

    Cadance sighed. She glanced down at the dirt beneath her hooves, kicking at it sadly as a tune came to mind. And with the tune, a song.

    “I’ve been staring at the edge of the border, long as I can remember, never really knowing why.

    “I wish I could be the perfect daughter, but I come back to the border, no matter how hard I try.”

    She sighed, turning around to head back to the village. Back home. “Every turn I take, every trail I track, every path I make, every road leads back.

“To the place I know, where I cannot go, where I long to be…”

As she walked, she felt a light breeze push against her neck. It wasn’t much, just a faint wind. But the smells it brought, that of wonder and the unknown and adventure, it stirred a feeling within her that she knew too great to ignore. A grin spread across her face as Cadance turned around suddenly, sprinting back to the edge of town.

    “See the line where the sky meets the trees? It calls me!

    “And I don’t know how far it goes!

    “If the wind in my wings as I fly does work with me,

    “One day I’ll know, if I go there’s just no telling how far I’ll go.”

    Cadance leapt into the air, flapping her wings as hard as she could as she struggled to become airborne. It was difficult. As one of the only pegasi in the village, she didn’t have much to go off of more than instinct. For her, flight was a daily challenge that she always tried to overcome and master.

    So it was with a happy heart that she found herself rising into the air, the power of her song fueling her flight as she soon found herself far above the village. With a grin, she flew into the branches of one of the closest trees, hooking her hoof around one of its sturdier branches as she swung around, coming to a rest with her hind hooves standing on a lower branch. She watched as the ponies in the village below continued to work and play under the orange glow of the setting sun.

    “I know everypony in this village seems so happy in this village,

    “Everything is by design.

    “I know everypony in this village has a role in this village.

    “Maybe I can role with mine?”

    She jumped off the branch, spreading her wings to catch the air and allowing her to glide down into the nearest field, where several older ponies were tending to the crops.

    “I can work with pride, I can make us strong

    “I’ll be satisfied if I play along!

    “But the voice inside sings a different song-” She let out a growl of frustration. “What is wrong with me?!”

    She looked to the forest, feeling the stirring in her heart once more. With a slight smile, she began trotting towards the forest, daring to sneak just a peak into the unknown. And as she did, she sang:

   “Feel the wind as it pushes past the trees, it’s exciting!

    “And I don’t know how far it goes!

    “And it feels like it’s calling out to me, ‘so come find me’!

    “And let me know, what’s beyond that line? Will I cross that line?”

    Cadance broke out into a sprint, and then into a canter. Her wings spread beside her to catch the wind as she ran, her mane and tail billowing behind her like smoke. Her heart was racing as she soon found herself running past the forest’s edge, into the shadows beneath the leaves and branches.

    And yet she wasn’t deterred. “The place where I can finally be free, it calls me!

    “And I don’t know, how far to go!”

    “If my heart and my song and my hopes stand beside me,

    “One day I’ll know, how far I’ll go!”

    Soon, Cadance was deep within the forest. The sights and sounds of the village were far in the distance, too far for the young filly to notice that ponies were starting to get worried. She didn’t know, but she wasn’t sure she’d care if she did. She was finally getting what she wanted! An adventure, to explore beyond her home!

    Then she noticed something. No, someone. A pony, and a unicorn to boot! She was wore a long black cloak that covered her body, but Cadance could see the glow of her horn as the pony walked through the woods, carefully stepping over a root as she followed the path deeper into the forest.

    “Hey!” Cadance called out to the mare, causing her to jump. “Who are you?” She trotted up to the pony despite how the unicorn seemed anxious to walk away.

    As she approached, the mare turned to her, scraping her hoof against the ground. “Oh, me? I’m uh…” The pony glanced around nervously. Cadance could see that she had a light gray fur that could easily be seen as silver under the light of her horn. “My name’s Prismia. Who are you, little filly?”

    Cadance frowned. “I’m not a little filly!” She argued indignantly. “My name’s Cadance! Although my full name is Mi Amore Cadenza, but I don’t like using that name.” She glanced up at the mare. She obviously wasn’t an adult, but she certainly was older than Cadance. A teenager maybe? “What are you doing out here?”

    Prismia rubbed her hoof at her throat awkwardly, as if hiding something. “I, uh, I live out here actually. What about you? Where are you from?”

    Cadance pointed a hoof towards further down the path, where the sun had already set and night had started. “I live in Brayling, right over there. Have you ever been there?” Prismia shook her head. “How come?”

    Prismia shrugged. “I prefer to be alone. I only just got here.” She bit her lip, her faded blue eyes searched the area. “It’s pretty late, Cadance. Shouldn’t you return to your parents by now?”

    “I guess. But I want to talk to you!” Cadance smiled. “I’ve never met anypony outside of Brayling before. What’s it like? Is it cool? Are there other pegasi? Can you cast spells like fireballs and teleportation?”

    Prismia gave Cadance a small smile. “It’s...something, living out there. How about this? You go home to your parents, and maybe you can visit me in my cottage tomorrow. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

    Cadance looked a bit disappointed that she’d have to wait forever until talking to Prismia again, but she gave a nod. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Promise?”

    “Promise,” Prismia agreed. “Now go on, I don’t want your parents to worry.” With that, she turned back to what she was doing. The last Cadance saw of her before she ran back to the village was the unicorn moving her hoof from her throat, revealing the black-and-red-colored alicorn-shaped pendant wrapped around her neck.