Very slowly Philomel took in a breath. She watched as Breaker ran into the clearing, bellowing and cheering outloud to distract the mauls providing cover for the tomb's entrance. Just what forces had enchanted three of the most territorial beasts would be here was daunting as a simple thought, let alone a reality. Whatever, or whoever, had brought those things there was a high probability they were incredibly dangerous. And they were within the tomb. Right where Philomel was bidden to go.

Breathing in slowly she reached down and stroked a single finger down the length of Veridian's snow-white ear. He flicked his ears, and glanced up at her with gentle golden irises.

Are you ready?

Very slowly Philomel nodded, and she pulled her long white blade out of its sheath. Into her other hand she fitted The Lover, her not often now used emerald green dagger that could burst into flame. Flame and a mythril sword seemed to be the most apt to prepare for what foes lay within. That combined with the living hope of Drys, the knowledge that her goddess was with her, and the cloak of swirling purple majesty, gave the faun just enough willpower to believe that she could survive - and win.

So therefore, setting off at a low pace, as the sounds of Breaker's chants filled the air, she ran. Rapidly, and fluidly her hooves went from tree root to grass to earth and onto stone, making the noise of clattering but too fast and too distant for the mauls to attack. Behind her, and unlike her silent on paw, paced Veridian easy and gentle. His muzzle was agape, his eyes flickering around the entrance.

Still they went fast, straight into the mouth of the tomb, and down into the passageway. With it long and lit only by the natural light of the invertebrates, it was hard to percieve the correct direction. Yet the way was straight and obvious for the most part, and as they neared to an area that seemed darker, Veridian began to change.

Pounding ahead of his beloved he allowed the fire within to take over. Running all the while he began to expand in size, baring through the pain as easily as he did death. Common practise made it common pain, and he kept pace as his legs extended, muzzle grew wider and longer and his fur began to burn. The agony wracked down his spine as it split into shards, then reassmbled itself; but all in the easiest ways to allow him still to run.

Run, as his form transformed into something larger than a beastly wolf.

Run, as fire spiralled out from his coat.

Run, as Philomel built up the passion to yell their coming, and run - run as they charged into the battle for their lives.