Prologue—Stampede And Reawakening
Author's Note
Props to Hailspider for pre-reading. Yes, I am doing a Fall of Equestria story, with a twist, of course. :P This chapter is intentionally short, just to set the stage for what lies ahead.
Prologue—Stampede And Reawakening
A swath of caribou bulls ran through snow-laden trenches, most of them heavily wounded and with their antlers nothing more than broken stumps that sat atop their heads. They staggered upright constantly, but some tripped and fell only to turn around with screams leaving their throats. Behind this stampede came another, one consisting of enraged and heavily-armed ponies that were lead by a quartet of alicorns, each one firing blasts of raw power from their horns that sent the bulls in the trenches flying up into the air like tossed flapjacks.
The ponies behind them mopped up any bull that managed to avoid the blasts of power, decapitating them one by one with sharpened blades wielded by skilled hands before swiftly moving on to the next closest caribou that they could manage to grab. Blood stained the snow in droves of puddles, none of which belonged to an equine. Weapons gleamed in crimson, armor glistened with reflected paling, terrified faces that formed on the caribou they pursued, wings whipped up small flurries of white dust as pegasi swooped low to strike another bull from above.
Each and every single face that belonged to a pony was morphed into an angry scowl, almost as though they were demon-possessed. Their eyes glinted with dancing sparks of anger, ones that died briefly when another bull fell down dead, only to renew when the piercing array of gazes shifted to the still-fleeing caribou up ahead.
"Equestria will not fall to evil! Equestria will not fall to cruelty! Equestria will not fall to deceit and trickery!" the ponies chanted in unison as they kept up with their caribou adversaries that were retreating. "Equestria will not be chained! Equestria will remain in Harmony!" they shouted as still more bulls fell to the monsoon of equines and to the raw magic they brought with them.
Ahead of the stampede, trying his best to outrun the impending doom that came ever-closer with each step he took, a single armored bull with grand antlers and black hair settled between them pushed on in spite of the cold. The air nipped at him persistently, his hooves became number and number with each crunch of snow, and his heart pounded with each movement as if it were going to burst from his ribcage at any second. His eyes were wide, and his ears were pinned back against his head, constantly ringing painfully as he heard another dozen or so bulls fall behind him with anguished cries cut short.
Yet as he pushed onward to escape one death, he met with another; the cold managed to bypass his armor and his fur, slowing his movements even more, though not by much. His legs shook constantly, always threatening to buckle, and with each minute and each cry of another slaughtered bull he struggled just to stay upright. He tripped over an errant rock that was barely concealed by snow and landed face-first in cold monochrome, and threw his hands into the chilled white to haul himself up to try running again.
He never got the chance to move so much as one centimeter as the hooves of the living bulls behind him repeatedly stomped into his backside while their owners rushed on, unaware that they'd just ran over one of their own in their panicked frenzy. His armor bent and dented with each step, his face buried deeper and deeper into blinding snow, and he heard ribs cracking and flesh squelching before pain flared throughout his body like white flames.
Then, as the last cloven hoof stomped upon his spine with enough force to break it before its owner left, silence fell. The sole armored caribou lay there in the snow, alive but helpless. His world went black as he heard snow crunching nearby, before he felt a single hand rest on the back of his neck, likely checking for a pulse. The last thing he heard was simple, but it burned itself into his thoughts like a branding iron to the thigh: "King Dainn has passed. His madness ends here."
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Darkness encompassed him from all sides, gripping him like a vice, yet giving him ample space to move about as he wished. However, the armored caribou dared not move, remaining frozen as if afraid to shatter a delicate illusion of some sort. Voices echoed ceaselessly around him, coming and going so fast he was left unable to discern if they were male or female, let alone what they were saying.
A small part of him wanted to listen to the ever-present murmurings, but as soon as he strained his ears and tried tuning out most of the hubbub, the area around him instantly fell into silence. Then, from the blackness, a distorted voice echoed. "King Dainn has passed," it hissed. The remark caused the bull's eyes to narrow coldly.
"I did no such thing!" the lone caribou snapped, his voice more or less a sharp yell that made his ears start ringing all over again. He recoiled in response to the sudden pain, but did not lift his hands to cover his ears. "I have done noble deeds—I died honorably! I should be in Valhalla at this moment, fucking useless whores and dining with the First of the mighty Caribou Kings!"
"Hmph. I'd expected no less from a king who wished to immortalize himself through less than legitimate means," the echoing voice snapped back, before its unseen owner started to chuckle. "Perhaps… it is time to wake up, Your Majesty," it added in a mocking, though oddly soothing, tone of voice. Dainn stood stiff as a statue, the only thing moving being his lips as they pulled back into a small, firm frown.
Dainn opened his mouth to speak when a ghastly roar echoed in place of the voice, and for the first time he moved, his head darting this way and that in an attempt to pinpoint the source of the noise. Then he heard metal scraping shrilly against something, before he saw sparks flying from the corner of his eye.
A blade as long as he was tall rose up and came down onto him, but he backed off with a nimble hop. The accursed weapon floated in the air, not wielded by anything yet seemingly attacking out of some sort of will. Dainn smirked. His antlers started glowing in soft blue, and the aura grabbed the blade by the hilt, yet it wriggled free and tried slicing him again. He jumped away, the aura around his antlers intensifying into wisps of what looked like blue flames.
The caribou sent a blast of fire at the weapon, only for his eyes to widen as the blade slashed haphazardly, cleaving straight through the fires and dispelling them as though it were nothing. "Wh… a-a sword… that can…" he trailed off, pupils shrinking as the sword floated closer to him and rose up once again, this time well before he could react. As soon as it sliced into his head, he jumped with a scream as he felt his eyes snap open of their own accord.
He drew wheezing breaths in an attempt to gather his bearings before he managed to take in his rather ill-lit surroundings. He stood on a floor of hardwood, with a closed oaken door standing a few paces away. To one side, a rotting wooden desk stood, splintering away with age. To the other side, dilapidated bookshelves long since emptied were erected, the shelves themselves warping as if something constantly beared down onto them.
A soft pitter-patter of liquid reached his ears, dripping against something within this place like clockwork. Dainn turned around to find that there was a single window present, though his brow rose when he realized it was boarded off from the outside, and what little he could see of said outside was grey as slate. Then he turned to the floor to find nothing more than a single shredded cloth laid out, and stomped a hoof when doing that also gave him a view of his own goods. He realized he was naked, but pushed the thought aside when he turned to the window again.
"What manner of shoddy construction-ship is this?" Dainn scowled, eyes narrowing as if the window offended him in some way. "It's almost as if a lowly cow built this place with flaking, sub-par clay…" His ears twitched when he heard something like a low humming, and he whirled around again in an attempt to find the source of the sound in the dismal space. His antlers sparked to life with a field of blue, only to dissipate in seconds as the beginnings of another headache settled in immediately after.
His hand rose to rub his temples in an attempt to soothe the headache. "Well, isn't this wonderful?" he cursed under his breath. "Just delightful." He marched to the bookshelves, still grumbling about the situation he was in as he noticed that, between the shelves, rested a small hole as black as the abyss. The rim of this hole caved inward, indicating that something punched through it at some point. He stopped his rambling, straining his ears once more.
Only the soft pitter-patter answered him, though now it was more faint. Dainn's eyes moved up and down the shelves, and he sighed when nothing else turned up. He turned to the desk and stormed over to it, and scowled when an examination of the splintering surface came up empty. He noted it didn't have any drawers or doors or latches; it was just a singular hunk of rotting wood that was warped by years of neglect.
His eyes narrowed and his hand balled into a fist. He pulled his arm back before punching the piece of furniture several times, cracking it repeatedly and wincing as splinters stabbed into his fingers and knuckles, only stopping when one blow caused it to snap in two and the halves to topple onto themselves. The caribou breathed heavily, his fist flaring with pricks of pain. "I swear to the First Caribou King, I'll punch a hole—" he stopped when a shriek echoed from outside and instantly turned to the door.
Silence fell once more. Dainn scowled before he turned back to the now-permanently-ruined desk at his hooves. The scowl faded and he blinked when he saw a scrawling on the wall that was obscured by the desk.
"To achieve enlightenment and Valhalla's blessings,
one first has to admit to their sins."
"I should be in Valhalla by now…" Dainn grumbled, crossing his arms and ignoring the splinters in his hand. He turned away from the desk when something clattered behind him. Nothing caught his eye, except for the door which he then strode towards at a brisk pace. "No sense keeping myself in here any longer. This room is hardly worthy of my majestic presence." He reached out with his not-splintered hand and tried for the doorknob, which turned with a noisy creak. Dainn grinned and flung the door open, revealing a set of stairs going down that was blanketed in must and shadows.
He strode down with careful steps, his ears folding back as each step groaned under his weight. Whether they squeaked from age or disuse, he wasn't certain of, though it mattered not as they did their job in supporting him fairly well. In a minute or so, he found himself surrounded by worn bookshelves that were emptied, accompanied by peeling wallpaper, a table with a cracked horse head bust, and windows boarded off from the outside. There was a door between the windows, which he immediately rushed to before fumbling with a knob that didn't turn fully.
"I find a potential way out, and it's locked," Dainn seethed, his brow furrowing. "Can't my day get any worse?" He let go of the knob and turned his attention to the various shelves that spanned the entire room, before his gaze fell onto the table with the bust. He noticed something dangling from the muzzle of the wooden beast, and walked to it to further inspect the anomaly. His hand felt the object up and down, his eyes widening when he realized he felt a rather bulky satchel and a thin leather strap.
He immediately took it off of the bust and flung it around for a few seconds, hearing something jingling and crinkling within the bag. Dainn took the object and held it by the strap, his other hand reaching up to the satchel when it stung from the movement, reminding him that he still had yet to address the splinters perforating it. He mentally slapped himself for forgetting, and lifted his hand with teeth bared.
Painstakingly, and one by one, he carefully pulled the splinters out with his molars, using his lips to feel for more of the wooden bastards without further stabbing himself. There were many, some small and some large, but thankfully none big enough to leave permanent marks. With that done, and some blood flowing freely, he reached for the satchel again. He winced as his fingers connected with what felt like a flap, but he steeled himself with a firm reminder of, "It could be worse, Dainn. Suck it up."
He flipped it open and dug in with earnest, before pulling two objects out. One was small and crafted of metal, no larger than his middle finger, which he promptly returned to the bag. The other was balled up into a wad, which he then had to unravel like candy to see whether or not it was of value. In the darkness, he had to strain his eyes just to see various shapes and words marking places and such as soon as the damned thing was unrolled and flattened.
In the top left corner, three words stood out—words written in what looked to be runes. Dainn's pupils shrank as he studied them closely. "Ponyville tour map?" he asked, a brow raising up as the words left his mouth. His tone took on an increasing disbelieving note as he added, "I somehow landed in Equestrian territory? And it's written in… in caribou?"
Dainn could've sworn his head had began spinning as soon as he saw that he'd found himself in possession of a tour map written in caribou. He stood there, utterly dumbfounded, staring at the map without seeing anything but the writings inscribed upon that little corner. Some small part of him wondered what else the dismal place he found himself in—Ponyville, if he were to trust the map and the map alone—had to offer thus far.
He gathered himself and folded the map up before returning it to its satchel. "No use dwelling on it. Though since I am in enemy territory… I may find a useless mare to fuck. I need to alleviate the stress somehow…" With that, he turned his attention to the smaller metallic object that was also in the satchel before he pulled it out.
He took it in his hand and turned away from the bust before striding to one of the windows and holding it to what little light that could filter through the obscuring planks outside. Dainn blinked as the object in question glinted in a way that he could see a ring on one end that his pinky finger would easily fit through, while the other end boasted two small rectangular protrusions and nothing more.
His eyes then darted to the door, before returning to the small object in his hand. "A key…" Then something clicked in his head, and he mentally let his hand connect with his face. "Dainn, when did you become such an incompetent imbecile…" he growled, more to chastise himself as his brow furrowed. He walked to the door and flung the satchel's strap over his head so it could rest on his shoulder before he felt up the door in search of a keyhole of some kind.
Instead of a keyhole, however, he found a rectangular object that was so large that his hand could wrap around it and only clasp at least half of it at any one time. Dainn experimentally rattled it, his ears twitching as he heard the distinct jingle of shaking chains. His hand flew around the door after that, feeling metal binding it shut from all sides—but nothing else, except the rectangular thing and the doorknob he'd tried earlier.
Dainn's eye twitched, and so did one corner of his lip. He continued to fumble about, searching about the door for a way to get out and step into the world. A fierce grin crossed his face as he found a keyhole on the rectangular object, and without reservation he thrust the key into said hole and turned. His grin widened when he heard a sharp click, followed by another as the object shifted in his grasp. He took a few seconds of his time to wrestle the damned thing free of its manacles, and made to fling it away when another noise hit his ears.
The key kept turning, producing clicks that were melodic at first—before the sound gave way to a soft, constant noise that was a mix between a low hum and a colony of bees buzzing in a box. Dainn's brow rose, and he brought the object to his ear to confirm that it was indeed the source of the incessant noise. "What in the—" Words died and he jumped back with eyes widening in alarm as the manacles of the door dropped like lead weights, producing a loud and echoing thud that made his ears ring.
The buzz persisted for some long minutes after that, before it ultimately died down and things fell into a tense, dismal tranquility. Dainn stood stiff, still clutching the object in his hand, his body close to trembling. Once the silence registered, he shook himself out of his stupor prior to hearing another click—one that he felt in his hand as the object briefly trembled. He promptly turned his attention to the obstacle before him, followed by lifting a leg up high. He swiftly kicked the door open, causing it to swing outward and slam clean into an outer section of wall with another echo.
What he saw outside made his brow furrow. Thick, almost impenetrable fog hung heavily beyond the now-open door, and it seemed to have swallowed all else except for two things. One had nothing going for it save for a small splash of muted green, and the other was part of a dirt road that started at the foot of the door and ended at a distance he couldn't hope to discern.
He turned to the object that held the manacles in place, and his brow rose as he saw it was a rectangular lock-shaped thing with a solid iron bar running across the top, sporting a black paint with a gold trim and more rune-esque writing on the front that ran the entire length of the damned thing. The key he'd used stuck out of the hole like a crude stick, parting the runic writing perfectly at the center without actually obscuring the scrawling. He turned it over to further examine it, but found nothing more than some more golden trimming along the edges.
"Odd…" Dainn murmured, turning it over again to scan the writing on the front. His eyes narrowed as he took just a moment to let the scrawlings of gold sink in, and he shook his head before stashing it away in his satchel. "Olden runes… great, now I'm going to need to find a book that can translate that rubbish."
He didn't even take one step out into the street beyond before the buzzing spontaneously started anew, reaching his ears in a faint, ominous hum. He turned to the door and saw another scrawling that only now could be seen, scratched messily into the wood with splinters running amok from where he had kicked it.
"Those who refuse to remember the past are condemned to repeat it."
Dainn snorted and turned past the door to attempt to peer into the ever-stretching fog, and his brows climbed his forehead as he saw a silhouette in the distance, almost entirely shrouded by the fog. It stood just far enough away that he couldn't make its features out, though he definitely could see that it had crouched low to the ground. And it seemed to be skirting its way to the left on…
Dainn blinked, shaking his head to make sure his eyes did not just deceive him. The silhouette moved again, still skirting on what looked like a horrendously elongated limb or two that bent at grotesquely odd angles, and those limbs sported protrusions of their own that flew about as it moved. The protrusions rattled and clanged, only silencing right before the creature shifted once again.
"Is that a dragon?" he asked aloud, curiosity piqued. "That's the only creature I know of that would have such long limbs…" Slowly, he started to walk to the entity, and as he crept closer the buzzing increased in volume at such a rate he did not notice it.
As he got closer, though, the entity stopped moving altogether. The buzzing grew louder as Dainn crept closer, and only when he was within five feet of the thing did his face drain of its color as the being turned to regard him with a face attached to a head that sat at an unnatural angle. "A-a… changeling…?" Dainn croaked, backing off as the thing shifted slowly, as if daring him to get a better look. And get a better look he did.
It had a broken horn on its head and disturbingly long, mule-like ears. Thin spindly arms that twisted at chained wrists and ended in clawed, stick-like fingers supported its body, which only consisted of the head and a breastless torso. Gossamer, torn wings of crimson beat furiously, but did nothing to lift the thing in the slightest.
The face itself, though, sported little more than empty eye-sockets and a torn grin that stretched from ear to ear, all framed by a stringy red mane that only served to accentuate its contorted features. Capping it all off was a set of pale gums and a pale tongue, the former of which were lined with sharp and yellowed teeth.
The two stared off for a grand total of three seconds before the changeling-thing opened its mouth at a hideous 90 degrees and let off an unearthly, ghastly wail. With its cry the air itself turned frigid fast enough to make ice start growing on its spindly arms from the claws up. It lifted a hand, intending to strike at Dainn for all it was worth, but came down to find an empty patch of grass where the caribou stood.
Dainn was already making a run for it, his heart racing a mile a minute as he sprinted away from the creature in a frenzied attempt to get back to the library. In doing so, he managed to gain several feet of distance. "I… I need to find something…" Something grabbed him by the hoof and made him trip, sending equal amounts of pain and numbing cold running through his limb right up to the spine. He twisted around and let off a surprised cry as he found that the changeling-thing had somehow already caught up to him, a hand clenched tightly on his hoof.
It lifted its other hand and had the temerity to clasp it squarely on his testicles, before it began to pull. Dainn lifted his hand and thrust it in the satchel before pulling it out to find that he once again clenched the lock with runic writing—and then it dawned on him. He bent forward and struck the monster right upside the head with the bundle of painted steel and grinned as it cried and let go before backing off. He stood up and rushed to it, closing the distance before bending low and striking at it again, caving in the right side of its skull and causing it to slump with a sickening crack and a hiss of pain.
Dainn kicked the thing in its ribs, just to be sure. It did not move, and the ribs, which he found as visible and despairingly thin as its arms, broke from the impact with his hoof. He made to kick lower, but stopped when he saw that the torso ended where a sliver of red carapace began, finding little more than a stitched-up patch of flesh reinforced by staples. "Too damn cold for my liking. I need to find something warmer…" he muttered, still feeling the chills the thing left upon touching him fading slightly.
He began to walk away from the thing, lock in hand, and the buzzing that rang earlier now had fallen to a deafening silence. Yet as he walked back to the library, the buzz started anew, though this time very softly as the changeling-thing gave the slightest twitch of a shackled hand.
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Dainn tore through the library in his search of something else, though aside from the blanket that he'd reclaimed to cover his goods, nothing else really turned up. He left, but not before toppling the horse-head bust with a good kick to the muzzle. He returned to the changeling-thing, finding that it was still there. Still motionless. "Why don't you be a good bitch and stay there?" he hissed, lifting a hoof to kick the thing again when a small voice in the back of his head decided to pipe up and stop him.
"It's already dead. There's no point in degrading it further."
Dainn contemplated this, scowling for some seconds before he let his hoof drop. Deciding he had better and more important things with which to spend his time, he pulled out the map again and did a once-over. "Hrm… closest place to here would be…" He squinted and peered closer, spotting no less than two buildings; one down south and the other across a street.
"I could either visit a windmill, some houses, or a clock tower…" He stuffed the map into his satchel again, and only now noticed that the air was still chilled. He twisted back to find the shadow of the library behind him, then back around and nodded.
He stepped over the corpse and made his way to the clock tower, or at least where the map said it would be. Slowly, cautiously, he strode on, keeping eyes and ears peeled for anything else that dared move in an unnatural manner. As soon as the first shadowy shape cropped up, he ran over to it to find little more than a boarded-up, partially destroyed house sporting a straw roof. Upon discovering that the door was bound by another lock and some chains, he left it to head to the next closest structure.
Same result, except with an entire slab of steel sitting in place of the door. Turning away and heading onward again, he then came across a tall, thin structure jutting skyward some twenty feet away. "Is that…" He stopped himself and broke into a run, deciding that his unfinished query would be answered soon enough. It took a little over two minutes for him to reach it at a full sprint, but his suspicions were confirmed as soon as he reached the building.
It was indeed a clock tower, though moss sprang up upon every brick the lower half of the building was comprised of. A single, massive and hollow arch had been carved into the base, serving as a half-decent shelter from the elements if one so desired it for that purpose. Oddly, past the clock itself stood barren wooden beams barely hanging on to a sagging, golden bell, further supported by a shingled roof that was splintering by the second.
Dainn took a few seconds simply to process the presence of the moss that blemished the once-beautiful construct. "This town's been abandoned…" A screech cut through the air, and Dainn froze for a second before running for the arch and pressing his back to the nearest inner wall. He stood stiff as a brick as the sound of buzzing wings and cracking bones filled what was once a soundless void.
The buzzing started yet again, growing louder in tandem with the wings and bones. A spindly arm, coated in a layer of frost, slammed into the ground from outside the arch before a red-maned head with a partially-caved-in face poked in with ears upright and swivelling. The head twitched sporadically and twisted this way and that, and for a split-second those empty sockets fell squarely on Dainn. Then the abomination retracted head and limb with a displeased hiss, and it plodded along out of sight.
Several minutes passed before the buzz died down, along with cracking bones and fast-flapping but useless wings. It took another minute thereafter for him to register that she was gone. "So that bitch just won't stay down..." Dainn wisely kept that thought from rolling off of his tongue. "She seems to listen… but would that mean she's totally blind?" he pondered, finally taking a second to peel himself from the wall to start scouring the area under the clock tower for anything of use. He did so with near-silent movements, in case his hunch proved true and the changeling-thing decided to come back and pester him again.
He knelt where the spindly hand landed to let his own hand ruffle through muted green, frail grass and quirked a brow when it brushed up against something equally as muted in color that he hadn't noticed before. Grasping the object and picking it up, he found it to be a partially-frozen key that sported a simple ring on one end, three protrusions on the other, and little else—it was eerily similar to the one in his portable lock. Strangely, the ice that coated the key did not thaw in the slightest, even as his thumb brushed up against it.
He rose to stand, and he stashed the key and the lock in his satchel. The buzzing began again, in a low monotonous hum that instantly had Dainn tensing. He turned to the area outside of the arch to find a different shape, one that stood upright, ambling about in the fog near one of the houses he passed with protrusions that he could've sworn resembled antlers. Then he caught sight of spindling arms and a low form charging at it, before springing up like a grasshopper and clamping down on the second figure.
More unearthly howls reverberated from the two, and one of those series of sounds was distinctly anguished and masculine. Thin limbs rose again and again before hitting the second figure. Soon, only the spindly creature remained 'standing,' and it released triumphant hisses before skirting away deeper into the fog at such speeds it was but a blur at that point.
Dainn hesitated for a few seconds, but no longer than that. He made his way, slowly and quietly, to the second figure to attempt to figure out what had provoked the assault. It took minutes to reach the scene, and things fell silent before he got to the destination.
He paled upon finding another caribou bull laying before the house with the steel door, one that was frozen in a rime of frost from head to hoof. He was sporting scars both old and new across his face, as well as a pair of cracked antlers and an aged blond mop of hair between them. His mouth was wide open, now fixed into a pained grimace that oozed fresh blood before ice took over.
Dainn knelt down and stared the second bull in his unmoving, blanching face. "Hrathr…" Slowly, Dainn turned to the rest of Hrathr's body, finding that he had nothing else on him except for a bleeding, ice-riddled spot where his crotch used to be and the aforementioned new scars.
All Dainn could do was turn to Hrathr's face and lift a hand to his neck to check for a pulse. There was none. Nothing but cold and rigor to greet his fingers. Then he stood and stepped over his fallen kin with a sigh. "I shall avenge you, brother…" he muttered as he slowly made his way back to the library once more. The air turned colder still, but because of his fur coat Dainn wasn't even slightly fazed as he kept walking.
The first thing that came to the forefront of his thoughts was that damned two-limbed changeling, and he shuddered as his mind went and painted him a disturbing picture of how Hrathr very likely met his end at her hands. He could have acted; driven her off and saved his kin, and yet he didn't.
Now all he had was an abandoned, fog-filled town with a monster skirmishing about like she owned the place, complete with the capability of ending anyone that so much as looked at her the wrong way. All atop a satchel containing one thing of use, an improbable weapon, and a key that he could not tell what it could unlock.
And he saw, first hand, what that monster would have done to him if he'd allowed it. Not even two hits with what was essentially a metal brick and a kick to the ribs had been enough to keep her down for long. He'd need something more punishing and crippling before daring to take her head-on again.
He stopped, just ten feet away from the library, and looked up at the space above the door. He froze and held his breath as the buzzing began again. There she was, clinging to the bark with both hands and her back to the tree, frail wings beating madly and barely supporting her without snagging in the slightest. She stared back, lower jaw dribbling with fresh blood and something squishy-looking dangled from the maws, barely held by meager strands of sinew that still clung to the yellowed teeth.
The changeling-thing gave a chittering hiss before snapping her head up and swallowing the dangling squishy object in one wallop. The instant it went down her throat she turned back to Dainn, fingers drumming lightly against the bark, sockets narrowing as though they still possessed eyes. As though she dared him to do something. Dainn stood there, still silent, watching her every move.
The stand-off didn't last long. The creature snorted derisively, jumped off and landed on the ground before skittering around the library and out of sight so fast she was but a blur. Dainn turned southward the instant she'd disappeared and silently moved away from the library, releasing a sigh so soft he didn't hear it at all.
But he could still hear her chittering as he made his way to the windmill. A distant, derisive, borderline demonic chittering sang through the air. For now, there was naught he could do about it. He ignored the chittering before pulling out the massive lock as a hunched figure materialized in the distance. The buzzing started again as he crept closer to the hunched form.
