Fire

Osthryn keeps up with Silovar as they fly back over the desert landscape. They are silent. Not that she would be able to say much in the mental space, but she knows she cannot say much to help anyway. The forcefulness with which Silovar left Geolu's cave is something she wishes he did not do, but she agreed that Geolu's callous dismissal of her identity as a Dragon and the deplorement of herself, Oswald and humans in general as Silovar's "pets" was unpleasant. She winces when she recalls the words Silovar threw at Geolu in her defence.


"Geolu, I do not remember you, and I do not remember what you have done."


Osthryn did not need to be a Southern Dragon to know that this was the equivalent of wishing someone dead to their face. She keeps looking behind her as they fly, fearing that he might follow them and cut them down. He looked like he wanted to. The anger and betrayal that bloomed across Geolu's face when Silovar spat those words was like that of an eternal fire being lit. So far, no threatening silhuette of Geolu looms.


She does not presume to know the depth of it. This was the first time she ever saw Geolu, and she did not even know his name before today. Beyond the strange greeting ritual and the story Silovar told her of how he resurrected him, she knows nothing of Silovar and Geolu's relationship. Like the respect she expects Silovar have for her past, she cannot presume anything about his. As well as she knows him and the little he shared about how he himself differed from the Elder Dragons in the South, this might have been a discussion long coming.


The suns had already set. As they soar through the darkened sky, the only remnants of the suns are a thin red strip of the waning twilight over the mountain range. Whatever demonstration likely Frederick and Levitia had planned for His Majesty would definitely be long completed by now. Osthryn hopes Silovar has a plan to derail whatever damage the Necromancers could do. Unlike Geolu, she does have some hope that cooler heads will prevail. It is a hopeful thought that King William the Wise will live up to his title.


Mountainkeep is still a ways in the distance, but Osthryn is sure that she sees firelight. Silovar slows as well. The thin strip of red across the top of the mountain is still the same level of intensity, and twilight was now long gone.


"Danger?" Osthryn manages, satisfied to hear how her voice echoes in the mental space they share. She feels Silovar smile with her at the small success. "Not sure. It could be a village or a large camp, but I don't remember seeing anything in this particular place around the mountains on our way out."


They land easily on a grassy gnoll. Osthryn shrinks back to herself, and Silovar follows suit. It is a new moon cycle, and the stars shine like white specs against the somber black of the sky left by the quiet of the four moons. It is quiet. Only the rustling of the wind through the blades of grass can be heard.


They slowly walk up the hill to the flickering flames. "Silovar?" Osthryn begins, her hand brushing tentatively against the back of his arm. "Are you alright?"

"Geolu is a story for another time," Silovar dismisses. Not coldly, but defensively all the same. Osthryn files her questions. He is right, this might not be the time to try and open that parcel just yet.


Silovar stops, likely feeling some remorse for his quick dismissal of her, and takes her hand. He squeezes it, tightly.

"Let's just make it out of this alive, yes?"

Osthryn returns the squeeze with a wink, "I think you need that advice more than I do."

Silovar grins at her, "Well, I do have a dangerous reputation."

She raises her eyebrow with exaggerated skepticism, "Dangerous to you and yourself alone."

Osthryn appreciates his attempt at returning to their usual pattern, but his smile does not reach his eyes. Osthryn lets the topic drop. Enough has already happened for both of them today.

They soon crest the hill the fires burn beyond, and Osthryn's heart sinks to the pit of her stomach. The flames are a campfire, as Silovar suspected, but it is what surrounds the campfire that sets a sickening feeling crawling through Osthryn's body.

Her heart rate rises as her vision traces the lines of a body dragged through the grass. The grass surrounding the display has been thoroughly trampled into a makeshift circle. Footsteps surrounding the area indicate that several people were here. She resists looking at the object of their activity for as long as possible, but she cannot avoid it.

Silovar's lets go of her hand and snakes an arm around the small of her back. She knows he is trying to comfort her, but the trembling of his arm around her betrays his own emotion. She does not need to look at his face to know that his steel-blue eyes are blazing with grief and anger. Wordlessly, she puts her hand over his, closing around the tips of his fingers.

The trampled circle is drenched with the blood of the wyvern discarded atop the licking flames. A cavern in the creature's chest yawns where its heart once was. The flames at the base of the fire burn with a characteristic green of a magical fire. The fire burns higher and most likely longer with the wasted magic of the discarded animal than it normally would otherwise. Osthryn closes her eyes against the assaulting image, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. The light of the flames dance like a perverse joke behind her closed eyelids. She holds herself stiffly, squeezing Silovar's hand. Silovar tightens his grip around her waist.


"We are too late."