A Lore Guardian's Love

[Breaker]

Near the frosted peaks of the Shirayama Mountains a quaint village sat wreathed in winter. Smoke billowed from stone chimneys and snow weighed down wooden rooftops. Banks of snow lined the dozen or so criss-crossing roadways, cleared aside by diligent villagers with wide-mouthed shovels. Winter visited the mountaintop village each year, and each year the hardy Akashiman inhabitants adapted to the chilly temperatures and piling precipitation. But this winter had brought another new element to the village, whose residents called it simply Yutori. An element with broad shoulders and twin Y-shaped scars on his cheeks, and limitless hazel eyes.

Joshua "Breaker" Cronen stood at the center of his dojo, watching his students work all around him. They sparred and grappled in pairs, exchanging punches and kicks, tossing one another to the ground, and rolling over and over in the struggle for victory. Breaker had come to Yutori to teach after his last dojo, which had been little more than a rented out basement of a bar in Radasanth, had become overrun with potential students. Breaker's notoriety as an instructor of martial arts and magic had grown exponentially following his participation in Sei Orlouge's Cell, and while the demigod had enjoyed the popularity for a time, before long he found himself seeking a quieter, simpler life. He'd journeyed east over the Comb Mountains, called the Shirayama Mountains in Akashima, and discovered the small town by accident.

The dojo's walls were paper thin, its ornate ceilings barely strong enough to hold up the snow, and braziers flickering in the corners did little to provide warmth. Even so the students sweated, their bodies heating the single-roomed building more than the flames in the braziers could hope to. They were all youths of Akashiman lineage, young men and women who had heard of Breaker's presence and journeyed to Yutori to seek his instruction. Most had come with some prior training in martial arts, and the wide variety of fighting styles had led to some of the most interesting classes Breaker had ever taught.

"Good throw, Saza," he called as he watched a female student toss her male sparring partner like a shovel full of snow, "next time, follow his hips to the floor with yours, and he won't escape so swiftly!" Breaker smiled broadly, his twin scars dimpling, hazel eyes twinkling as they scanned the room. When he was busy teaching he could almost forget how long it had been since he last heard from Am'aleh, the Goddess of the Sea. She had been his lover and his patron for some time, and habitually made use of his talents in shaping the world to her whims. But she had been silent for months now, leaving Breaker to find his own path through Corone's harsh winter.

"Stop," he commanded. Although he had spoken in a normal voice, every student in the room heard and obeyed swiftly. "Line up," he instructed, and the youths did so, aligning themselves from youngest to eldest. He had long since given up attempting to order them by rank; they all came from different instructors, who rewarded progress in different ways. Best to keep them arranged by something that would not change, in any case, and they all aged at the same rate.

"You are all doing well," Josh said proudly. He strolled up and down the line like a commander addressing troops. His black metal boots ticked on the wooden floor, his traditional white Akashiman gi swished with each step, and the ends of his knotted red belt bounced off alternating legs. "Very well," he added after a dramatic pause, and a sigh passed through his students like a breeze through the trees. They always waited with bated breath at these moments, eager to discover what new technique or wisdom Breaker would care to share. "So well, in fact, that I have decided to skip ahead in your instruction. I would trust each of you with my life, and so I feel comfortable teaching you... the touch of death."

A gasp ran down the line, and when Breaker clapped his hands forcefully, most of the students jumped.

"Who would like to volunteer for demonstration?" He asked with a wolfish grin.

[FennWenn]

A frail boy mounted atop a black-furred direwolf trod through a lonely mountainous village, garnering a few curious stares from the residents they passed by. It was a simple town, a congregation of houses cobbled together from mountain stone and pine wood. Though both the boy and the wolf had traveled over many miles of snowy crags to arrive in Akashima, neither of them felt the keen bite of the cold winds howling past them. For Daugi, this was thanks to her thick fur coat. For Fenn, it was because of his unfreezing blood and his innate affinity for icy magics.

Fenn needed some help with this magic, and he needed it now.

Lately, the little Fae had found himself quarreling with his powers. There was no better way to describe it. It was stronger than it had ever been before, and it was getting out of control. A series of recent incidents were weighing heavily on his mind - of giving frostbite to those who touched him, of accidentally pulling an icicle out of thin air, of causing small hail storms when there should have only been snowflakes.

As it turned out, other Frost Fae were very hard to find, and none of the magic users he knew had any idea how to work with his particular brand of iciness - even Vincent didn’t understand what was wrong with his tiny friend.

So, Fenn had sought out someone who could help him learn how to better use his magics before they ending up using him.

In searching for a capable teacher, he had heard hushed rumors about a man of great power (perhaps more god than man) who could work wonders with the elements. What had caused Fenn to seek this man out was a whisper that one of the elements this man supposedly held control over was ice. The boy's solid green gaze narrowed and unconvinced as he surveyed the quaint settlement. This cute little town clinging to the mountainside was home to the ice master’s dojo? Could’ve fooled him. As it was, Fenn had never been one to get lost, but this out-of-ways village was a place he hadn’t ventured into before. He bit at a hangnail as Daugi trod over snowy streets, sighing at the thought that he might have to spend a lot of time wandering around to find it.

Speaking of his mount; she was in one of her moods. Once or twice an hour, she’d give him a put-out glare over her shoulder, bright red eyes twitching in irritation. Fenn understood why. Upon her most recent glare, the boy dismounted her in one fluid movement and nodded back at the forest knowingly. Now’s as good a time as any. Sorry I kept you waiting -- we had a long ways to travel. Dismissed, good steed! he thought with a silent giggle that shook his shoulders. Leaving with nothing more than a grateful “Wuff!”, his hungry friend bounded off through the town and into the icicle-laden pine woods outside. Good hunting to you.

Left on his own in the foreign town, Fenn strolled through with his hands in his pockets and his cowl pulled over his head. He wondered, peering shyly around each corner, if he should attempt to ask one of the locals where the this dojo was.

Suddenly, there was calamity amid the houses to Fenn’s left. An alien music on the breeze wafted past him like an intoxicating perfume. Though he knew he was really needed to find that dojo -- and the sooner, the better -- he stopped and savored the sounds that serenaded his ears. Spicy, fast; it was composed of a medley of feral voices and wind instruments. In a sense, the upbeat song felt almost familiar to Fenn as it guided the little Fae’s feet towards it, calling to him with a voice he couldn’t ignore. Was it merely his curiosity dragging him through the streets? Or was it related to those dreams he kept having, of dancing and whirling endlessly with other fey beings?

The ice master could wait a little while. This, he had to find out now.

Fenn flew towards the source of the music on eager, stumbling feet. What he was greeted with was a gathering of people in an empty patch of land just inside the village, a sort of bare town square. The source of the music was a band of dancers and musicians garbed in colorful attire that seemed a little… thin for the weather, as if the cold meant nothing to them. Villagers were gathered around the merry band in celebration. Couples spun around with their hands clasped together, children laughed and shrieked above the din, and even the elderly stood in at the threshold of their houses to watch the festivities.

Fenn found himself bouncing a little in tune with the music. At first, he ventured into the crowd shyly, his hands still stuffed firmly into his pockets. As time went on though, he loosened up. His head bobbled with the beat, and he found himself moving in the same smooth way he did in his dreams of faerie festivities. Skipping, twirling, leaping, spinning underfoot. It was a miracle that he didn’t smack into anyone. His hood fell from his head as his cavorting intensified, his cloak flapping behind him, a pair of wings giving his dance flight. How easy, oh so easy, was it to get lost in the joyous song! There was something off about these glittering, gyrating dancers at the center of the celebrations. When they brushed past him, they radiated a warmth that tickled anyone who understood the feel of magic. It only set Fenn’s heart beating faster as he spun about with them. Possibly, he thought with a new brightness in his eyes, these might be more Frost Fae, cloaking themselves in some sort of illusion. But he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t ask what manner of being they were. The music moved too fast to allow him to slow down and discuss it. He was tangled and snared in the rhythm like a butterfly in a spider’s web.

A lithe woman in vivid red robes wove her way through the throng of people toward Fenn, her gleaming golden gaze easily keeping track of his swooping movements. Messy crimson curls flew about her in a frizzy halo as she spun up to his side. He got the creeping feeling that she had been watching him for a bit. “My, aren’t you quick on your feet?” she commented above the music, flashing him a toothy grin. Her voice was a sultry, deep-throated purr. “May I have this dance?”

Fenn beamed back and took her hand with a quick twirl, flattered by the attention. Yet at the same time, his heart skipped a few anxious beats. This particular situation was uncannily akin to the addled dreams of dancing that often came to him at night.

And when someone beautiful approached him in those dreams, well, it never ended well.

[Breaker]

Only Saza stepped forward. The Akashiman girl breathed evenly, dark eyes never breaking her instructor's hazel gaze. She pushed strands of long dark hair that had come out of her bun behind her ears and squared off opposite Breaker. She trembled like a statue, her heartbeat fleeting yet her body refusing to budge. She waited.

"In order to master the touch of death, you must first master its three components." Breaker lectured. He seized the lapels of Saza's gi and turned her forcefully so the left side of her body displayed to the class. "Power, precision, and-" he broke off and listened intently, cocking one ear toward the west wall like a hare sensing danger.

Bards told stories of Breaker's strength and speed. Many knew of his prowess in martial arts, and his affinity for magic. Only a savvy few ever discerned that the demigod had extraordinary perception. He could hear music. Voices singing, and instruments... outside in the cold. Josh released Saza and took a few steps to the north, turning his head to get a different perspective. The sound seemed to emanate from the town square.

"That will be all for today," Breaker announced suddenly. A sound of collective disappointment passed between his students, but he thought he saw relief flash through Saza's hard eyes. He had to chuckle as he strode toward the door, still listening. Of course he would not have killed a student, but he did like to have fun with them once in a while.

The students paused in the corner, piling wool and hide layers over their cotton martial arts kimonos, but Breaker strode straight outside and turned toward the town square. The cold did not touch him in the same way it did most people; it was a tickle not a sting, a reminder of the weather rather than an assertion of it. He moved at an ordinary pace along the road, greeting folk here and there as they passed. In the few months he'd lived in Yutori he'd gained a certain reputation around town. Bandits on the horizon? Better call for Breaker. Need a big stone moved out of your back yard? Ask Breaker. Anyone willing to shovel all the snow in town? That would be Breaker, along with his students on certain days. Some folk had favors to ask, but Breaker made excuses and continued along his way. The music pulled at him like nothing since last he heard from Am'aleh.

The rhythm livened his step, and the tune drew a beaming smile to his face. Finally Josh could resist no longer and he ran the rest of the way to the square, weaving in and out of villagers with snowflakes swirling in his slipstream. He joined the crowd surrounding the musicians and dancers, experienced eyes seeing what most could not. Powerful illusion magic flickered among the dancers, but they moved too swiftly for him to see through the enchantments.

Josh blinked as he cast his gaze over the musicians. They were animals. Beneath the deception he could see wolves, mountain lions, and snow owls. And yet their voices sounded strangely human as they sang along with the instruments they impossibly plucked and blew. For how could beasts with neither fingers nor lips play such instruments? Again Breaker searched among the dancers, and near the middle of the group he spotted a lively red-haired woman. The Scarlet Dancer laughed as she swung a small Fae about, crimson locks swaying wildly. The illusions emanated from her, and Josh could not penetrate her disguise. But he had heard the stories.

What an honor to have Myra the Lore Guardian among us. Josh thought. He raised his hands with fingers splayed and called upon the Eternal Tap, the tide of magical energy that flowed through him at all times.

Snow rose from banks at the edge of the square to do his bidding. It swirled over top of the festivities and melted into water, and then froze into clear, clean molten ice. The ice morphed and molded, taking on an ornate shape. Although the sun shone weakly through the clouds its rays caught in the folds of the ice and cascaded down in a thousand different shapes. Like a chandelier the frozen work of art rotated above the dancers, casting Breaker's good mood among the revelers below.

[FennWenn]

(I didn't realize it was my turn to post, oops, ^^')

The crowd seemed to know well enough to make way for the crimson-haired lady. Happy snowflakes fell around the two like confetti, which was Fenn’s fault; frankly, he was just glad that his touch wasn’t giving her frostbite. Just like the other dancers, her hands were warm and bright with the feel of magic. She twirled him and dipped him and swung him about. Her boundless enthusiasm more than made up for Fenn’s slightly-flagging energy. He admitted that he had far more skill than he did stamina. Yet still, he didn’t want to stop.

Fenn’s eyes rose to the skies as a chandelier of ice burst into existence, hovering, above the celebrations. Villagers cheered eagerly at the rainbow of colors that rained down on them. The very air was stained with vivid hues.

There was only one person here that should be able to do that, Fenn knew gleefully. He gleefully glanced about as he and the woman danced around. The ice master? But the boy couldn’t spot him. All this whirling had made him cross-eyed with dizziness, and it was a bit of an effort to stay on his feet at this point. All he could hear was the rhythm and the red lady’s deep laughter as he was swung around.

Until, suddenly, no-one was laughing anymore.

An explosion of magic cascaded throughout the crowd, cutting the music short and shattering the brilliant chandelier above, shards of ice hurtling into the crowd below. Screams ripped through the air. Village folk raced away, terrified and bloodied, from the center of the dance. The celebration of the dance troupe had been transformed from a scene of joy into into one of violence with one earth-shattering interruption. Fenn’s hands were ripped free from the grip of of the crimson lady in the calamity, and he found himself splayed out on the cobblestone, fighting against the lingering dizziness of his dancing. When he tried to get up, someone bowled him right over again in their haste to escape.

If only this was just another one of his dreams.

Was that blood on his cheek? One of those falling ice shards must have cut him. He clasped his hands to his twitchy ears to drown out the awful cacophony of screaming, fighting, and… animals?

Fenn rolled out of the way as a screeching dancer hurtled past him, the man's skin melting away into steel-grey feathers as he transformed into a sharp-clawed snow owl. The little Fae stared aghast as the other dancers that surrounded him morphed into animals and charged their mysterious assailants.

Skin melted into fur, faces contorted into snapping muzzles and beaks, entire bodies melting and folding inward to display their true selves. These were not Frost Fae, the boy noted woozily, green eyes flashing with fear.

Several times, Fenn was nearly trampled amid the chaos as he struggled back to his feet. The confusion that had broken out around him frightened the Fae. Licks of frost curled around the street stones under his feet and crept over his clothes, his breath quickening. A few stray hailstones plinked out of the air around him and crashed to the ground.

“Have no worries, lively one.” A growl of a voice caressed Fenn’s ear. He looked over his shoulder to see the redheaded woman standing over him with an uncharacteristic snarl on her face, placing a calming hand on his shoulder. “Myra will protect you.”

As she said this, her own appearance shimmered and melted into a new shape. Like the rest of her entourage, she was not as she seemed to be. A proud lioness replaced her, thick tusks jutting from her lip and russet fur gleaming in the sun. Feral gold eyes narrowed in on an older man in leather armor. His crossbow had caught the Saberlioness in his crosshairs, and in turn she had the man in hers as she sprang towards him.

It was rare for Fenn to fight instead of flee, but he wasn't sure if any direction in the chaos was safe. All he could manage was to summon two fist-sized hunks of ice in his hands and make to throw them at Myra’s readied assailant (and possible victim). His hands were pale, small, trembling.

That would have to do. Fenn didn't know who these people were, but he understood that they were dangerous. He had no damn plans to die today.

[Breaker]

People screamed, beasts roared, and the ice chandelier burst into hundreds of pieces. Breaker did his best to steer the shards safely away but many still fell among the village folk. The explosion had taken him by surprise, and he searched among the changelings for the woman responsible as he fought the swell of the crowd. Panicked villagers raced by him on both sides. He bladed his body and pressed through the throng, hazel eyes vigilant.

The beasts reverted to their true forms and attacked the aggressors. A snarling wolf seized the throat of the sorceress who caused the explosion. She let out a bloodcurdling scream, killing the wolf with a lick of magefire even as two of its brethren swarmed to finish her off. A young warrior with twin short swords fell to the claws of a mountain lion, his blades carving furrows in the beast's flanks. An older man sighted along the ridge of his crossbow, only to have the small Fae who had danced with Myra fling a pair of ice chunks at his head. The mercenary ducked out of the way, but the moment's distraction was all the saberlioness needed. She struck like lightening, long fangs piercing the man's narrow chest as he cried out in surprise.

Too much death, Josh thought as he broke free of the panicked masses and summoned more snow from the banks bordering the square. I would do away with all this killing. Tightly packed snowballs whizzed at the remaining animals, with enough sting to send them running. Josh came face to face with Myra herself as he dispatched of her followers. The saberlioness' fangs dripped crimson, her great golden eyes bulging with ferocity.

"You are no longer welcome here," Josh told her, "leave now, or one of us will die today."

The saberlioness reared up on her hind legs and changed. Her fur molted and vanished, leaving the body of the Scarlet Dancer, but the head and face of the great beast remained.

"As you wish," she said in a guttural voice, "but this lively one comes with me." She seized the little Fae in her arms and, giving Breaker a final growl, fled after her companions.

Breaker breathed in and out. Blood and singed fur spoiled the air. All around him people moaned and sobbed as they tended to injuries caused by the blast and the feral beasts. His students mingled among the townsfolk, helping the wounded and calming the worried.

"What happened here?" Asked Saza as she bandaged the neck of a man who'd been attacked by a snow owl.

"I hesitate to hazard a guess," Breaker replied, and yet he had some idea. He strode to the center of the square, where bodies of people and animals alike littered the cobblestones, and checked the sorceress' pulse. She was long dead. A cursory look confirmed that her two male companions had joined her in the afterlife. Wasn't there a fourth? Josh wondered, I could have sworn I saw a young man with a silver sword attacking...

A groan emanated from beneath the bulk of the dead bear.

Josh grabbed two handfuls of fur and muscle and heaved the great beast sideways. Beneath it lay a pale faced youth with amber eyes, his silver sword still clutched in one hand. Alive.

"What," Breaker asked, offering a hand to help the man up, "did you hope to accomplish here?"

[FennWenn]

If there was one thing Fenn had not expected out of this mess, it was to be swept away from town in the arms of the Saberlioness.

He had been close, so close, to meeting the ice master he had heard about. For a brief moment, the man had even stood before him. Tall and scarred, brawny, the godslayer stood above the chaos with unruffled calm. Unfortunately, blank-eyed boy still stood stricken by the aftermath of the brutal battle just moments before. Hands clasped to his mouth, eyes wide, he stared at the bodies and debris littering the square. Numbness crept into his mind. Apparently, fate thought it hilarious to keep shoving dead people in his face. A little senseless, Fenn thought vacantly. And so red. Why so much blood?

If he wasn't so preoccupied with holding himself together against the sad scenery around him, he might have reached out to the godly man and asked for the teaching he’d come here for in the first place. Instead...

“As you wish,” came Myra's resigned growl, breaking into Fenn’s thoughts, “but this lively one comes with me.”

Strong arms scooped him up off the bloody streets. Ignoring his squeak of shock, she slung him over her shoulder as if he were no more than a sack of flour. That snapped Fenn to alertness. Wait! No- the ice master! Waaaiiit! Dinky arms waved with all of the urgency the tiny fae could muster. But the ice master didn't seem to catch his frantic gestures. And thus, he was whisked away without a chance to do what he can come here for in the first place.

Myra was lost in a mix of endearment (towards the tiny Fae) and simmering anger (at the attack? Or at her banishment?), and she didn't pay any heed to Fenn’s resistance either. Perhaps she didn't even notice. Her grip was strong and smothering, and the frail Fae couldn't seem to loosen it no matter how he struggled. He considered forcibly breaking her grip with a concentrated burst of frost, but for the life of him, he couldn't quite bring himself to harm her. They had fought and danced together, after all. The guardian dancer left the damaged village without a glance back, swift on the heels of her scattered entourage. A few minutes out of galloping through thickets of twisting firs and gracefully nipping over roots hidden by snow passed as Fenn mulled over his precarious present predicament.

Daugi was not going be happy that he vanished on her, the fae realized with a winced pang of trepidation. What did Myra even want him for? They had a dance it had been great, and now… what? He couldn't think of a good reason as to why she had stolen him so. More dancing? Dammit. For one reason or another, Fenn had been kidnapped once or twice before; at least this time it was being done by someone who wasn’t inclined towards causing him harm.

And it would be better to keep it that way. Perhaps he could mount an escape later, but for now, he was caged within her arms.

Fenn frowned and placed a hand on his chin, his eyelids fluttering a bit. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was just being hauled around by Daugi. The familiar rocking motion of the bounding Myra’s bounding reminded him of how worn he was from all his earlier exertion. It wasn’t very long before he drifted off into a troubled slumber. For once, his sleep was blessedly devoid of dreams, a respite from all the chaos and carnage he had been witness to today.

[Breaker]

"Get up," Breaker whispered to the groveling swordsman. He grasped the fellow's collar and hauled him to his feet. "I admire your sense of duty," he continued in a hushed tone, "but now is not the time to be claiming responsibility, unless you want to be the next corpse in the street." Breaker straightened the man's collar and clapped him on the shoulder in a friendly manner as a middle-aged man approached.

"Caught one of them, have you Breaker?" The man said, the bald top of his head shining above a ring of salt and pepper hair. A ruddy shading enlivened his cheeks. He seemed ready to run and fetch a pitchfork.

"No no, no Gregor," Josh said. He put one arm around the amber eyed swordsman and the other around the middle of the large farmer's back. "This is... Charles. One of my students.

The farmer's brow furrowed, as did the top of his head.

"He don't exactly look like one of your students," Gregor said.

"That's because he's in an advanced program," Josh explained, lighting on an idea, "he tried to stop the attack on the village. Unfortunately, he was just a moment too late." Josh surveyed the sullen swordsman. "Look at how disappointed in himself he is," he pointed out.

"Er, right." Gregor said, taking a step away. "Thank you both for trying I suppose."

"In fact, we're going to seek retribution for this attack. But Charles here will need a horse," Breaker said. He clapped the swordsman on the back and squinted as if thinking. "Now, who around here has the swiftest horses-"

"I do!" Gregor interrupted. "I suppose you could borrow one of my mares. But what if I never see her again?"

"If anything happens to your horse," Breaker promised, "I'll compensate you at twice her market value." He smiled as Gregor hurried away.

"So you'll help me avenge my friends?" Whispered the amber-eyed swordsman. He clenched the pommel of his silver blade.

"I'll track down Myra with you," Josh amended, "I have no intention of killing anything, but I am concerned for that little Fae Myra grabbed." His eyes wandered as he looked back on that moment. At first he'd thought the Fae was a part of Myra's party. This lively one comes with me. Her words echoed in his mind. I should have stopped her the moment she said that. But she'd been leaving, and peacefully...

"You think you'll get anything from a Lore Guardian without a fight?" The swordsman demanded, shaking his head.

"She backed down once," Breaker recalled, "it's likely she will again, if confronted the right way."

"So what do you need me for?" The young man asked, eyes falling to the forms of his friends.

"Bait. I mean, a distraction," the demigod grinned as Gregor returned leading a dappled white mare. The long legged horse nearly blended in with the snowy backdrop. She whinnied as the farmer passed the swordsman the reigns, and shook out her long mane.

"Her name's Dandelion," Gregor explained, "she's just been fed and saddled so she should be lively till around dark. You will have her back before dark, right?" He asked, a worried frown creasing his ruddy face.

"Of course we will," Breaker assured him, "thank you Gregor." The farmer nodded and trudged away.

"Why do I need a horse if you don't have one?" The swordsman demanded.

"So you can keep up," Breaker replied, "come on now, we're wasting daylight." He crossed his arms while the swordsman sheathed his weapon, picked up his fallen comrade's crossbow, and hauled himself into the saddle. He wheeled Dandelion about, showing a comfortable familiarity astride the mare. Good, Breaker thought, he knows how to ride.

"What's your name?" Josh asked as the swordsman settled himself in the saddle, "I can't keep calling you 'Charles'."

"Azaranth Ubissad," came the answer, "but you may call me Anubis."

"Fair play," Josh commented, "my name is Joshua Cronen, but you may call me Breaker." He didn't wait to see if Azaranth recognized his name. Instead he took off like an arrow from a bow, following the clear prints left in the snow by Myra and her brethren.

[FennWenn]

A while passed before the little whisp of a fae woke up.

Fenn was laying on something soft and fluffy; musty fur tickled at his nose. He swatted at it. Let me sleep, you dumb mutt. It didn't shift, nor lick his face, nor bark insistently at him. Cracking open his eye just a bit, he wondered why Daugi wasn't being her usual boisterous self — then stopped and sighed as he realized his actual situation. It seemed that the fur he had been feeling had merely been a multihued pile of pelts cast across a stone floor for him to sleep on. He ran a hand through it, leaving a trail of frost and frowning. Memories of the village and the conflict trickled back in.

Oh. Right.

Now where was he? Fenn sat up stiffly and ran his tongue along the roof of his mouth to get rid of the sticky taste of sleep. He took in his new surroundings with wide-eyed curiosity and a dash of suspicion, clutching his satchel to chest for comfort.

It seemed that he had been laid to rest within a very strange sort of cave. His pelt bed was heaped up in front of a simple fireplace shaped directly from stone, bathing him in a warm yellow glow. The entire room felt carved out rather than a natural structure; there were no natural features, no stalagmites or bumps. Nothing more than rough reddish rock encased him. The furnishings of the chamber were sparse and simple, stools and boxes elegantly carved out of a dark wood. Pine needles, fur, and feathers littered the floor. This place was, he supposed, quite like the dance troupe whom had spirited him away in the first place. A little civilization, a little wildness.

There were only two exits to the room. Both lead into other chambers, rather than directly to the outside world.

A sharp intake of breath from behind caused him to throw a look over his shoulders. Lying in the shadow he cast was Myra in her true form. She peered into him with wide eyes, much in the way that a cat might stare at a mouse. The Saberlioness’ body twisted and melted, back into the guise of the jovial woman he danced with from before, crouching just a foot away.

Red locks fell over Fenn as she as she leaned towards him. He shyly wrinkled his nose, uncertain about how very, very close she was to him. Myra smelled much like his wolf buddy; blood and fur, mud and sweat.

“Did you sleep well?” she whispered into his ear with a feline grin.

[Breaker]

Breaker moved through the trees like a wraith through shadows. Myra's distinct footprints led him up a steep embankment that ended near the bottom of a rocky cliff face. He bellied down and crawled the last few yards to the top of the hill. Snow melted beneath the heat of his body and soaked into his white gi, but he remained absolutely still, hazel gaze sweeping the the area between the treeline and the cliff.

The mouth of a cave yawned mightily from the bottom of the cliff. A trio of wolves patrolled the entrance, sniffing the breeze at regular intervals. Blood still shone on their snouts from the recent battle. Fortunately Breaker had thought to position himself downwind. He could smell the wolves, their bloody saliva and their matted fur. He listened for a time, but heard no other animals nearby. It seemed Myra's entourage had largely disbanded following the unfortunate end to their festivities.

Breaker pushed off from the top of the hill and slid downward a few yards in the wet snow. He rose, dusting the frigid powder out of his jacket, and retraced his footsteps until he met with Azaranth.

"I tracked Myra to a cave a ways ahead," Josh said as the swordsman halted his mount, "three wolves guard the cavern. Gallop past them at top speed and they should give chase." He lifted a hand as Azaranth opened his mouth to protest. "The wolves are the ones who killed your witch friend. Her blood still shines on their snouts. Surely you wish to avenge her?"

The swordsman's amber eyes shone, and he cocked a quarrel in his crossbow and shouldered the heavy weapon. "Lead on then," he said in a tense voice, barely more than a whisper.

They circled to the south and approached the cave at an angle, moving almost parallel to the cliff face. As they neared the cavern Breaker slipped back into the treeline, pointing first at Azaranth and then toward the opening where the wolves paced.

The swordsman nodded, his throat bobbing as he eased his blade in its scabbard and then gathered the reins firmly in one hand. He hesitated for a long moment and then heeled Dandelion into a headlong gallop.

Josh moved through the trees alongside him, silent as a tumbling snowflake, watching for his chance to enter the cave.

[FennWenn]

Fenn had experienced plenty of awkward situations in his thirty years of life. “Being seduced” was not one such situation, not until now that was.

“Do you have a name, my lovely one?” Myra crooned as she situated herself snugly into the heap of furs alongside Fenn, watching him with a coy flutter of her lashes as he hesitated to answer her. Her hands brushed against his cheek and traveled down to his chin, lifting his gaze to meet hers. Behind the gentle touch was an iron strength. Fenn felt highly, highly uncomfortable with these advances, anxiety twisting in his gut. Never before had anyone attempted to woo him — and he could hazard a guess as to why. He felt a bit embarrassed on Myra’s behalf, as well as his own.

His head shook at her question; the stuffy cave air and her proximity to him, a bare half a foot away, made his mind move sluggishly.

“How can you not have a name?” she asked of him between the throes of a throaty laugh. “All things have one. Am I to keep referring to you in silly ways? I could name you Verdant for your eyes, or perhaps Verglas.”

He shrugged bashfully, drawing his knees into his chest, and stared into the crackling fire. He wondered if he should try to spell out his name, or leave her guessing. When he turned his attention back to Myra, he found that she had taken his hands in hers. A grey flush tinged his extremities as she brought her face closer to his. Hot breath hit his cold cheeks, smelling faintly of meat and herbs. A fit of panic hit Fenn, and he ducked away before the kiss was planted on his face. The fae tugged his hand out of hers -- and scooted out of the furs and a few feet away from her, his back against the side of the fireplace, breathing hard. He shouldn't have been able to break her grip that easily. She must have let him, she must have been teasing him.

This line of thought seemed to be correct, for Myra’s smile bit into her words, sharp as a tooth. “You are just as entertaining in courtship as you are in dance, I see. This will be a most interesting hunt.”

A tentative smile was on Fenn’s face, one more a result of stark realization than glee. If she wanted to make this a hunt, then how long could he, metaphorically speaking, run before getting caught?

Myra watched him for a moment, picking up on his uncertainty. “Is there anything you need?” she asked coyly, moving closer again, her gaze soft. “You act as if you are uncomfortable. There is no need to be shy under my roof. I can give you whatever you wish for, if only you ask.”

Some space? Daugi? That was what he truly wanted. Fenn bit his lip, stuck as to how to safely answer her — how to articulate his thoughts so that she would listen.

Both of their heads swivel to one of the chambers exits as an abrupt tumult echoed down into the cave. Baying, whining, the thundering of hooves pawsteps away from the cave — a fight brewed, and wolves were involved. Having Daugi for a companion allowed him to recognize the sounds even as distorted as they were. Fenn flinched and huddled against the wall, praying that his direwolf buddy wasn't somehow involved in the fight. It was be just like her to discover him missing and decide to mount an attack on those holding him captive.

Enthusiasm shifted over to anger as Myra glanced towards the source of the calamity that seemed to fade away into the distance. “More company,” she murmured, her brow furrowed. She ran her hands through her flyaway hair, smoothing it down, mulling over something grave. There was genuine concern in her eyes as she turned back to Fenn, which took him by surprise. “Our hunt must wait.” He breathed a shaky sigh of relief as Myra busied herself in hiding him. As bare as the room was, there was really only one place she could keep unseen. Warm hands swaddled and hide him in a mound of furs without a warning, burying him beneath a mound of fur and fluff. When they brushed up against his nose, he couldn’t help but sneeze. Fenn poked his head out of the pile curiously only for her to push him back under the stuffy pelts. “Stay where they will not find you. I will take care of this.”

So long as he wasn't going to get hurt. Fenn sighed and stayed obediently underneath the pelts. He shivered in silence as she strode through one of the corridors out of the chamber, ready to face who or what was intruding on her haunt so.