Salt and Sapphire

Was this blood his own?

Mirth’s ears rang and his lungs burned. Each beat of his heart poured seething agony into his veins. One moment he and his packmates were fighting, winning even, and the next there was fire. So much fire. It rushed through the tunnels like a hissing tide, sparing none in its path.

Where was Razor? He needed to find Razor, to warn him they were―

The sound of pawpads scattering the scorched autumn leaves approached. Mirth, exhausted and beaten, turned as much as his ravaged body would allow to regard the figure. His eyes narrowed as a growl bloomed from deep within his chest. The gryphon.

“You,” he snapped. “I should’ve just snapped your neck when I had the chance. Damned double-crosser...”

The gryphon tilted his head. “Don’t act so surprised, dog. We both knew it would come to this eventually.” He aimed the crossbow in his talons at the Diamond Dog’s head. “I did make a promise, after all.”

The gryphon’s piercing eyes met Mirth’s defiant glare, the world around them falling to stillness.

His talons trembled.

“Fare thee well,” he uttered, but before he could pull the trigger, his ears twitched at the sound of something rushing toward them. Gobrend lifted his head, aiming his crossbow, only to be tackled off Mirth.

The eruption of a violent struggle tore the deathly silence which had settled over the blackened ruins of the mines and the surrounding Ravenwood Forest asunder, and as Mirth lifted his head with the little strength he had, he found the gryphon beneath his scout, Razor swiping at him as he shielded himself with his crossbow to prevent himself from being gutted.

Mirth’s vision faded for a moment, and when the fog clouding his mind had cleared, he found Gobrend stabbing a knife into Razor’s shoulder, the dog howling in agony as the gryphon effortlessly dodged a sloppy retaliative swat, punching the dog below the ribs.

Mirth dragged himself toward the crossbow Gobrend had dropped, the scuffle between the two calming as the gryphon, now pinning the dog beneath him, was steadily pushing his knife toward the struggling look-out’s throat, Razor unable to completely stop the blade’s slow descent due to his injuries.

Razor bit Gobrend’s arm, misdirecting the knife and allowing it to plunge into his already bleeding shoulder, the gryphon gritting his teeth to stifle any cry and responding by twisting the knife.

When Mirth got his paw on the crossbow he sluggishly pushed himself up, the movement feeling like thousands of needles of liquid anger being stabbed into his side all at once. He ignored the pain, shakily lifting the weapon with one hand and aiming it at the gryphon, who had freed his arm and was now beating Razor’s already swollen face black and blue.

He laid his finger on the trigger.

Gobrend, suddenly remembering that there was another on the field, raised his head, his ears twitching. As the gryphon turned around, his eyes widened in horror.

Mirth growled, firing the bolt.

Gobrend unfurled his wings, but was too late to react. The gryphon shrieked as the bolt hit him before falling to the ground, unmoving.

Mirth let the crossbow fall to the ground before he slumped over, joining it. The world spun, and the pain was unbearable. Maybe… Maybe he ought to take a nap…

He failed to notice the stirring along the charred leaves as he faded into entropy.

Eve stared over the grisly scene before her with more than a little disbelief. She was familiar with violence, almost intimately so, but for such devastation to be wrought in such a short period of time…

Did Gobrend do this…? she wondered, awed as she observed the state of the Sapphire Mines. There were groaning slaves and dogs of both sides, as well as the horrifically scorched bodies of their comrades near the entrance. Of course, in the middle of it all was the high-born.

And no sign of Hagley. While Eve had already grieved for him, she couldn’t shake a dark desire which swelled with every step as she approached Gobrend's fallen form. He was bleeding from his side, a bolt having been the cause of his less than stellar condition. Eve checked his pulse, finding that he was still alive, if not well. She placed her palm on his head. He was burning up. Fever.

As she observed the wound, she noticed that the bolt had scorned one of his wings. If she were more naive and this were any other gryphon, she’d assume it was fool’s luck that saved his life, but knowing Gobrend, he’d purposely used his lame wing to cushion the blow and prevent any serious damage. She almost praised his insane ingenuity.

She lightly pushed him, causing him to groan.

“I don’t know what it was Hagley saw in you, high-born, but he paid for your vendetta with his life.” Her ears pressed against her skull. “And for what? For you, you who treated him like trash? He would have gone to the ends of the earth for you because he was just that damn good a friend, and you killed him for it! The boss was right, you don’t care about anyone other than yourself.”

Gobrend’s talons clenched, peeling the sodden earth.

Eve’s head perked when she heard the sound of chains rattling through the mud. A pony with the scarred remnants of what was originally a dark green coat pulled himself to them, panting at the great effort it must have taken to accomplish such a task in his ruined state. He reached out a hoof, which Eve swatted away before she carefully lifted Gobrend from the ground.

“H...Help…” the pony drily croaked.

“Why would I help a dead pony?” she asked, not bothering to look his way.

“Don’t let me die… a slave…” the pony pleaded.

Eve, against her better judgment, looked down to the pony, ready to draw her sword and simply bring his misery to an end, when she looked into his eyes. They were golden. Just… Just like…

Eve scowled, pulling from her saddlebag a small jar filled with a glowing, honey-like substance. “It’s not like you have anything to lose anyway,” she said, placing a spoon inside. “Open wide.”

Brocarius quietly observed the two graves before him, thinking. He’d shed no tears, for this was to be expected of a Knight; the same could be said for those unfortunate enough to be victims of fate, much like the filly. He appreciated them both for what they were. One could even say he considered them friends. But he’d shed no tears for them.

The pony chewed on the words Gobrend had said earlier, about how there was no value in the dead. Was that true? Did the dead have no value? Death came for everypony, that was the one certainty of life, but did a pony’s departure, premature or otherwise, render all that they had accomplished in their lives moot? Did the mouse have no bearing for the hawk? Did the grass not wake upon receiving the sun’s tender kiss? Did the wind not weather the rockbed?

The very idea ran counter to the philosophy of the Knights of Redemption, did it not? When he felt the brush of dusk every waking morning, it fueled him. When the sound of laughter tickled his ears, he smiled. When the chill of Death teasingly stroked his fur on Her way by, he was thankful for the chance to experience the warmth of Life’s embrace.

No, Brocarius didn’t want to live forever. He was content simply to live. And because his mission in life was to embrace change, he’d accept it regardless of what form it took: Life, Death, Chaos, New Order. It was a shame so many feared change.

Even so, the gryphon did have a startling point: at the end of the day, here lied two individuals in unmarked graves in the middle of some large, scarcely civilized forest, their names already being washed away by the indifference of time. Sad as it was, history would not remember them, even if he did.

So did the dead have value? If not, then why mourn in the first place? If so, then again, why mourn?

Brocarius lifted his gaze to the sky, thanking the Lost Sister for the masterful beauty with which she crafted this night under which Hagley and young Green Springs rested. At least the night, he thought, was everlasting.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna go back for the others, Alpha?”

“What others?”

Razor paused, rubbing the makeshift sling his arm was in. “The rest o’ your pack, Alpha.”

Mirth, whose side was wrapped in a dirty layer of bandages, scowled. “My pack? I have no pack, Razor. Every one of those backstabbers are dead or good as dead.” He roughly tore a bite from a spitted rabbit as Razor lowered his head.

“...Alpha, what if the others need help? You’re the Alpha; you’re supposed to look out for your own!” Razor immediately covered his muzzle with his paw.

Mirth growled, baring his frightful teeth as saliva ran down his muzzle. He looked over the fire Razor had set up with a wild, dangerous look in his eye.

“A-Alpha, I didn’t mean―” he cowered when Mirth bellowed, charging through the fire and looming over him with an open, slavering maw.

“One more word out of turn, and I’ll have your head on that spit, runt,” Mirth slowly said. “There are going to be a few changes in this pack. Seems there isn’t any loyalty in a dog when he has nothing to fear from his betters, so I’ll put the fear of the Flame, as an acolyte reborn through Her embrace, into every dog from here to the Equestrian borders!”

He stepped away, giving his subordinate room to breathe. Razor uncurled from the ball he’d fallen into, pointedly keeping his gaze away from his Alpha.

“The Frayed had no loyalty: My second in command was the wretched son of a jackal; and a vulture was led to our mines by the rotting stench of deceit that not even I could smell when it was right under my nose. But my eyes are open now. And I won’t make the same mistakes twice…” After a moment, he looked at Razor. “Where is Hex, runt?”

“I-In the forest, Alpha,” Razor hastily responded.

"Yorm?"

"Likely in the Sapphire Mines."

Madness crept into his unhinged gaze. “And the gryphon?”

Razor, still quivering, sorrowfully turned his gaze to the ground.

Mirth's eye twitched. He smiled, a chuckle escaping his lips, before he pulled his head back and laughed, truly laughed, for the first time in a long time, the fire warming the two burning on apathetically.