Prologue- or so they say 7

A Chapter by Shaibelle

The chaos begins.

The moment Phsy is conscious they venture to find the best shelter they can. The better part of the morning is filled with shivering and tears in the hollowed out trunk of a dead tree. The siblings huddle and smother as far into the gap as they can. It isn't ideal, and it isn't very warm, but no human soldiers have ventured this way, the dragon knight is no where to be seen, and the hollow is dry. Neither dares leave the corpse of the tree for a second, lest they be seen. The sea slips into view now and again between the puffed flecks of snow and swaying trees. Out there somewhere is a ship. There always is. A nearby refugee town has a harbor always prepared for a human raid, but it's impossible to tell if Watershee is even a safe location at this point.

About noon-time Skye pries a little vine of orberries, that haven't yet died off, from the outside of the tree and shares them with Phsy. She tries to chew the first few, but quickly decides this is a terrible idea; the berries are bitter enough to burn all the way across her tongue- and they're nearly frozen solid. The elves try thawing the berries between their hands, but this does little to help. They even try to split a ration of journey bread which matches the frozen berries in levels of appeal.

The day drags on, every rustle of par-frozen leaf sending them into fits of panic. The elvan woman repeatedly stuffs her face into the crook of her arm and will try to sleep, only resulting in a firm prod from her little brother. The cold can kill, but sleeping your way into death seems that much more appealing...and this is only the beginning. It isn't until much later in the day that terror creeps in around them as the temperature continues a steady decline, and cold, fused with hunger, skews their thoughts and vision.

Skye hears footsteps. Many footsteps. The footsteps of an army. Phsy hears voices, shrieks and howls, of the valley people. She catches sight of their long, rippled silhouettes hurled to the earth, one after the other. Dragon wings whip through the treetops in every breeze and billow; a demon-faced knight dances in their wake, grinning out from behind tree and stone, flashing the white of his fangs, and the blood bathing his sword. Gunfire mixes with thunder. Laughter peels between each burst of lightning. Blood freezes across the field of snow before them.

A massive -clang-, metal on metal, renders them both perfectly still; their hallucinations slip immediately into the dark spaces of the wood masking them. This sound is new. Occasional crashes and gunshots have sounded from across the river sporadically throughout the day, but this is much nearer. Folding her legs up tighter against the inner edge of the tree, Phsy mouths to her brother, "Can you see?"

Edging his way forward, the child gazes out into the fading light of the forest. Seeing nothing, he gets up on his knees and drags himself to the edge of the hollow to inspect the area behind them. His eyes go wide and that is all the warning Phsy gets before coming face-to-face with a sword. A black-gauntleted hand propels Skye back into the hollow beside his sister, where both proceed to stare on in silent shock. The dragon knight returned for them.

The human twists his lips and gives some semblance of a growl over his shoulder. Moments later the pearly dragon winds around the nearby pines and sets herself just behind him, jaws agape, breathing their scents off the snowy air. Beyond the knight, and past the dragon's maw, the ocean glimmers through fading oranges and beads of wet snow. That ship is out there somewhere, amidst the seas of glowing golds and gray- they'll never make it to it. Perhaps no one made it to the harbor. Perhaps there is no harbor left. Phsy takes a breath, watches the mist of it fog the edges of the knight's blade, and slaps the point away.

With a snort, the human rotates the blade to them again, signaling for her to rise with his other hand. She hesitates to respond, and the man finally just snatches her by the ankle and pulls her into the open- Skye jumps after her, teeth bared. The knight backpedals a few steps, emitting another sort of growling command to the dragon. The creature stalks slightly more to the left as its master moves right. Drawing his lips thin he begins to speak in his odd accent again, Phsy only catches the tail end of the words through the whish of whirling wind through branches, "...half dead."

Skye's eyes flare with a burst of gold and he lunges for the knight's knees- one swift kick to the boy's chest and he is rolled back against the hollow tree's roots, scrambling for breath. Face flushed, Phsy undertakes the task of standing, taking a glimpse back at her gasping brother. Shuddering with the effort, she vies to balance herself and look the man in his oceanic eyes.

Before fully to her feet Phsy feels the human's fist seize her jaw, the metal of his gauntlets raking over her skin. At first she believes he's going to strangle her, but she instead finds herself whipped back down to the ice and mud-splattered earth. Hoping to catch herself on the heels of her hands, she slips, face-first, into a heap of slush- a cut-off gasp drops from her mouth. A pearly glint secures her attention from this awkward pose- An ivory revolver, drawn from a holster on the black-armored knight's lower back. Phsy fights to get up on her knees. Down again. Shoved onto her side.

From nearby, Skye draws his gaze over the form of the revolver in between coughs and gags...he blinks. And again, squinting this time. It's blurred. The child heaves a blood-laden breath into his shoulder, vying to crawl for his sister. A pale-blue blur. A big one. The dragon? It isn't moving. Content in watching? Something clicks and clatters- Skye can almost make out the outline of the man examining his gun's ammo. If he can stand... The knight snaps the chamber on his revolver back in place and crouches to grasp the boy by his hair. Skye braces his hands against the knight's wrist, grunting with the effort. The man raises one of his brows for a moment, snarling something back at his dragon as he studies the boy's face, and then shakes him off to turn his attentions to Phsy again.

Turning on his heels he moves to step over her form, one armored foot on either side of her. Taking his time to check the ammo of his weapon again, he leaves the elvan woman time to contemplate what happens next. Under the gauntlets she can make out clear signs of frostbite across the coppery skin of his fingertips. Right hand rotates up with the gun, his ethereal stare focused just off to the left of her. His face looks neutral, lips pulled thin and wide, with his brow set in a relaxed frown to frame the steel blue glowing from beneath them. She's gritting her teeth and has to take a gasping breath to try and stop. Choking on air. The human waits for her to stop heaving. He aims for her heart. She spits blood into the slush and snow. The frown crawls further across his face and his thumb draws the hammer back with a resounding clack. A snowflake melts on the bridge of his nose as his forefinger begins to pull the trigger. Phsy breathes. Their eyes lock. His eyes...like the depths of a roiling sea-

Skye flies against the knight's arm just as he fires- the bullet pierces Phsy's shoulder. A mix of growl and cry whirls from the elvan woman; pain splinters out from the wound, quickly turning into a fiery tingling. Blinking wide she catches a brief sight of Skye biting at the back of the man's arm. Another blink. Haze spirals out in clouds, blotting out the light in her vision. The bullet- no. It wasn't a bullet. It feels wrong. Blink again- the world is starting to spin- and she watches the knight bash the revolver down on the back of Skye's skull. The boy droops instantly towards the earth and the human grasps him by the arm, appearing, if only for a fleeting moment, concerned. Blood drips from her brother's skull. Laying the child down with a slow, arched motion the knight frowns yet deeper.

Another flutter of her eyelids and the knight is overtop her, straddling her waist, the gun pressed to her torso, "Sorry." She cannot feel or hear the gunfire over his words, but on the moment of impact the world blossoms with glittery stars. Attempting to call out to her brother, she barely gets out a whisper before the man fires again. Her hip has a brief pulsating sensation, and then everything shifts to white. The human man adjusting his position above her is a momentary distraction, but her panic is short lived- she blacks out.

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