Frozen

by B_25

2 – Wolves

Spike fell forward into the snow; he didn’t even groan.

The howling winds whipped above his head. The thick mist obscuring the tundra rose higher than ever before. It hadn’t been long since he left the cave, but even in that short amount of time, the blanket of snow had enough volume to take the body of the drake into its hold.

Spike kept lying in place. His breaths came slowly now, the same pace in which his body shivered and his eyes began to close. He often liked to pretend that he wasn’t here, that the snow and wind was just some part of a terrible nightmare, and if he thought about home, that he would finally wake up and find himself in his bed.

When he opened his eyes, he was still freezing to death.

Spike tilted his head back and looked forward, placing and pushing his claws against the snow, his movements slow and lethargic, but his body rising all the same, and after a few moments, he was back on his feet.

Though he wasn’t very happy to begin walking again.

Time was a frozen abstract in the winter wasteland. Morning, afternoon, evening—they all phased together into a white mesh out here. Navigation was also a lost cause; footsteps were filled in the second after they’d been indented. Hope and logic were lost to the place, and those who had entered here with them in their hearts were sure to succumb to beneath the snow.

Spike carried forward with only a rucksack kept to his back and a claw raised over his eyes. The hiss of wind changed in pitch, but he did not care, he did not stop, as he carried on ever north.

But the hiss caught his ear again, and a second later, came the sound of snow crunching. Spike slowly came to a stop, looking around himself at the thick mist that surrounded him, hopeless to make anything out that wasn’t a few feet around him.

Snow crunched again.

Spike’s fluttered as his heart pounded. The crunch was distant but numerous, more and more starting to come from around him, building closer and closer, each one more heavy than the last as faint silhouettes could be seen in the mist.

The drake did his best to stand tall, but his knees kept buckling. He raised his claws and curled them into fists. “I-I’m not afraid of you!”

The figures howled.

One of them dropped to all fours and began sprinting toward him, eyes shining red as its glow cut through the mist, and a second later, as did the rest of its deformed body. Spike cried as he stumbled a few feet back from the creature.

It towered over him, coming to stand on its two legs as it held its arms out, unleashing a screech that forced the drake to cover his ears. When it was done, it gazed down at the drake, its thick, snow-white muzzle parted, exposing its yellow fangs and bloody tongue.

Spike stuck his feet into the snow, trying to control his breathing as the creature continued to examine its prey. The drake shook his head and unleashed a cry himself, small and pitiful that the wind overtook its sound, though it did not stop him flexing out his claws.

He charged forward, claws held at his side and head held eye, sights set on the creature’s chest. It became more familiar to him the closer he came towards it, and when he was a foot away, he cocked his claw and prepared to unleash it on the beast.

The creature lowered its head, forcing the drake to look deep into its eyes.

Spike froze.

“N-No!” Spike lost his balance as he fell onto his rump, unable to tear his gaze away. “Please, stop!” More of the creatures phased through the mist, eyes glowing red and muzzles snarled, forming a circle around the drake. “Don’t do this, I’m begging you!”

The environment shifted. Darkness consumed the sky as the particles of the mist become tainted with blackness; the snow was gone and the moon blood red. Spike quivered as he rose to his knees. “Take me instead…”

Each of the creatures commenced in a joint howl, their heads tilted back and their paws held out, claws covered in blood pushing themselves outward from their digits. Once their howl was over, all of them took a step forward, and then another and another, their circle around the drake tightening.

Spike struggled to rise to his feet, but the weight of his sack was too great, and he fell to his knees once more. He threw back his head, and as he felt the shadows upon him, shouted: “Twilight!”

The first claw raised and was outlined by the red glow of the moon. A second later, the sharp contours flew down at the drake, nearing his exposed throat as he himself was too scared to even flinch.

Then came the sound of metal colliding with keratin.

Spike gazed up from the snow as the mist became white again—just as white as the stallion standing in front of him, back turned with a sword held in a purple glow, trembling as it struggled to hold back the arm of the creature.

The sky was blue. The moon was no longer visible. The stallion pushed the creature away. He then looked over his shoulder at the drake, a black scarf covering him from his muzzle to his neck; his blue eyes shining just as bright as the creatures.