by Sarah Stribley

Created on: August 06, 2009

Tyrien led his horse silently to the edge of the field; staring at the ground as it passed beneath his feet, emotions churning in his stomach as he stepped wearily through blood and upturned soil.

All of his men had survived the battle; albeit wounded, albeit bruised and ready for the comforts of a warm bed. The worst injury had involved one of his soldiers from the front lines; the tendons of his sword-hand had been severed. The camp's medic could see to cleansing and stitching the wound, but a healer would have to be brought in to supply them with the proper herbs and salves to mix a poultice.

He stopped, aware of the earth trembling beneath him and the hysterical cries of a horse. Slowing raising his head, he eyed the animal, taking in its ash-gray coat, its blunt-cut mane and tail that whipped about with every movement like Night unleashed. Long powerful legs kicked at the air, churning up scents of musk and metal, then crushing steel-shod hooves into the ground.

"Falithae, bring me that horse, sing ballads to it if you must...I believe it would make a regal addition to our stables."

The Horse Whisperer crept toward the frightened beast; cooing to it lovingly, slowly peeling off one leather glove and allowing the horse to smell his hand. Its eyes rolling wildly, the stallion reared, a spray of foam sparkling from its mouth, its black lips pulled tightly back against its teeth. Falithae edged forward a bit more, humming gently and murmuring encouragement every now and again. He took his time, waiting for the horse's pupils to contract, for its movements to become less violent, and finally for its inhuman screams to become submissive knickers.

Tyrien came forward only after his stable master had taken the horse by its bridle and drawn its head to his chest, he stepped carefully towards the beast, removing one of his own gloves and unconsciously rubbing the reddish-brown stains from his hands. It was then that the twin flashes of light, like fallen sky, had caught his attention.

Falithae followed his master's gaze, his own dark eyes studying the long shards of steel before he nudged the pommel of one and the sculpted grip of the other.

"Do you think these spooked the horse, my Lord?"

Tyrien grunted before crouching to pick up the sword nearest him.

A flash of images raced through his mind; of chill hands uncurling in death to release two swords, of the blades' sharp descent to the earth, and of a mist-shrouded sun glowing coldly on the surface

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