Litotes’ choked exclamation is carried away by the wind, barely out of his mouth before it disappears. He can no longer make out his brother’s receding snowy form, but he chases it nonetheless. Here and there, he catches a glimpse: line after line of snow forming the swish of a tail, white triangles twitching as if they are ears, and once the slightest glimmer of an eye. Each passing hint draws him down the path, closer to his destination - farther from reality. i don't want your pity, i just want somebody near me
He has no idea where he is - snow, wind, ice, tree (repeat).
The winter storm swirls around him, dragging tears from his eyes that roll for no more than a second before freezing into his coat. The weather has whipped so angrily and for so long that all the General can see is white. He thinks he may now be marble: frozen, statuesque, as ivory and blended as the rest of the landscape.
The path begins to open. Lie no longer feels the soft-then-rough brush of bark as he allows the trees to guide him. The wind begins to calm as he lifts his head to study what lies ahead (a spot, not small but not huge, dark and hopeful). Too late, though, for as he begins to stumble with the most exhausted stirrings of excitement in his chest - his cornea and conjunctiva begin to inflame. Pain, sharp and hot, pulsates behind his eyes. He thinks there is poison spreading like fire through his veins, wild and unforgiving and unstoppable. Litotes closes his eyes and stops, stamping one hoof over and over into the ground (each imprint in the snow a new prayer for the swelling to cease).
When he opens his eyes, he thinks they are frozen shut. There is nothing ahead of him, and as he swings his head from side to side he realizes there is nothing - at all, anywhere. Lie closes his eyes again, panicking but unable to bear the pain the freezing air causes his cornea. The cremello nearly gives up then and there, but he does not wish to die - and he thinks he may truly become as frozen as marble if he were to wait. Instead of swallowing his panic, he delves deeper into it, allowing it to pump adrenaline into his legs. In this state he is able to overcome his fever, able to ignore the blood pooling on his bottom lip.
The sprinting exhausts Lie. His only sense is taste as he collapses: his own blood coloring his teeth bright red while the flavor is metallic and cruel against his tongue.
When the lion-man awakes, dazed, he blinks over and over to clear the fairy-induced haze. Around him several others are also bedded - he watches them for a moment before untucking his legs and standing shakily. It is still cold, but not so bitterly. Lie shivers then shakes out his fur while the party comes alive. He notes that two others are already awake; he considers speaking with them but then notices what they are staring at: icicles glittering dangerously above his head. The stallion skitters away, intimidated by the near-weapons they are supposed to carry home.
One of the stallions begins a speech - one Lie only half listens to for he finally notices that Solace and Kagerus did not make it. He sighs and peers back at the speaker only to find he has stopped.
The cremello watches as the others begin to mill about but ultimately decides to keep to himself. He is the second to snag something from the tree: two small, cupped branches. One of the branches lies on the ground, while the other dangles from his mouth. Lie presses his hoof onto the broken end, then forces the thin branches of the piece in his mouth above and below the ones beneath his hoof. Between the pressed together branches and the natural cup of the leaves, a precarious basket is formed.
Lie is not finished, though - not yet. He carries the makeshift basket to the edge of the heart-shaped pond and dips them in. Small pools of water stay in the branches when he brings it out, so the stallion places it delicately on the ground beside the pond. Here he kicks large amounts of snow into the carrier, just enough to cover the pools. He trots hurriedly to the base of the tree, lifts his front knees to the bark, and rips off one large icicle. He returns to his invention, places the icicle into the snow, and then repeats his process two more times. Now that the basket holds three icicles, the stallion kicks another load of snow over the ice. Finally, he drops to the ground and wraps his mouth around the center of the branches.
There, he waits. Stomach cold and pressed against the ground for hours as the contraption freezes.
When the rest of the party is gone, only he and the man that gave a speech in the beginning remain. His invention is frozen solid and mildly stuck to his maw. The cremello dips his head in solidarity to the frozen equine before trotting quickly into the darkness. The ice-coated basket burns his mouth, for he had kept his jaw cocked for hours. His tongue is stiff and numb against the bark.
Good, he thinks, I don’t need my breathe to get too hot against the ice.
The shore draws closer as Litotes picks up his pace. He does not break his stride when the water washes over his hocks; he does not allow the plague to take him. As the water rises against his chest, he shivers and paddles and moves desperately in an attempt to keep warm. The waves lick dangerously against the underside of his chin, but the cremello never falters: the branch-basket always staying at least half of an inch above the channel.
Somewhere along the path Leilan overtook him. He sees the dragon-man struggling just ahead, almost drowning. Lie digs into one of his last reserves and paddles furiously toward his slipping brother (they were brothers in his mind now - brothers of struggle). He stops paddling just long enough to dip his shoulder down and offer a shove upward. The General nods at him once again, tries to keep pace with Leilan, but the two get lost to the waves.
Finally, the cliff-shore of Nerine looms ahead. Lie breathes a shallow and sickly sigh of relief when the sand meets his hooves. Despite his exhaustion, doubt, and fear . . . he does not linger, does not hesitate. The stallion breaks through the water, takes one moment to peer at the reflection of the moon over the ocean, and then canters up the cliffside.
His journey through Nerine is quick - most of the land being barren and flat. When he reaches Taiga, he does not stop like he once did, spurred on by his need to finish what he started. Taiga’s pass-through is even shorter, so on comes Hyaline. Litotes breathes yet another sigh of relief, this one even deeper. His home welcomes him, wraps her mountainous arms around him in a warm embrace. He is re-energized by the dawn as it rises beautifully above the terrain but quickly realizes that he must rush (the snow begins to drip from its branches).
Lie stands in the shadow of the Mountain, peering morosely at his destination. The brief energy he had now leaves him, draining his limbs; still, he will not give up. He drags his hooves up the incline, snow and dirt building against the tips. The snow melts faster as the sun continues to rise. Lie panics and breaks into a terrified and reckless gallop. He does not know where his hooves land: each step more precarious and potentially ankle-breaking than the last.
The fairies’ perch is the same. When he arrives, faltering and heaving, he barely manages to bow his head in respect. Lie drops his offering and lifts his regal head, feeling the tiniest glimmer of delight at the sight of two icicles still whole.
guess i'm a coward, i just want to feel all right
