//------------------------------//
// IV: Dark Path 
// Story: Shroudbearer 
// by Razorbeam 
//------------------------------//

	Malik yawned widely as he extracted himself gently from Meika's embrace. The older, taller girl had him wrapped in a tight hug, the two of them sharing their body warmth as they had for the last three years together through the cold desert nights.  The morning light overhead was dim yet, promising that dawn had only just begun. He turned his gaze downward to his dear friend, who was already subconsciously curling up tighter because of his absence.

The way her short, cute muzzle scrunched up as she huddled into herself made Malik's smile bittersweet. He hated leaving her like this every morning, but he knew it was necessary. Even so, with her long mane and tail fanned out around her on the alley floor, he couldn't help but pause and admire her beauty. It would have been all the more so, he knew, if her stunning emerald eyes had been open. Even the well-kept girls of the highest houses that he had sometimes seen on the main streets were not her equal in beauty: not to Malik.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, sighing to himself. He had much to do that morning, as it was with all mornings, and so he had to go. The quiet whining sound she made in her sleep was the most painful part of it all to him.	

"Sorry, Meika... but breakfast will not find itself," he muttered a quick apology to the sleeping girl, before trotting off down an alleyway. As always he would do his best to return before she woke up, and as always he went on a short but thorough patrol, checking the alleyways surrounding her to ensure no one would find her, or bother her, while he was gone. Though few, if any, of the older changelings who woke as early as he did would have time to spare looking for the girl, he always found the time to spare to ensure they would not find her if they tried.

He was more her caretaker than she was his these days. Meika had no desire to steal, nor a knack for it. She had no desire to fight, nor a knack for that, either. Despite their burdensome results, Malik found these traits to be endearing, somehow, though for a very long time he had been frustrated with her for her unyielding morality. He hadn't understood why they weren't spending their days stockpiling food, or using their combined strength in numbers to set up a semi-permanent home, a place where little and big changelings alike would leave them alone.

Instead she had insisted on dragging him to very strange places, always talking. Sometimes they would spend their afternoons underneath the eaves of a school building, Meika listening to the lessons through the open windows and teaching Malik as quietly as she could to prevent being discovered and chased away. Other times they would go to see another young changeling girl her own age who was not houseless. She would often give Meika various papers, and sometimes even a few of the golden discs changelings with houses were so fond of.

The papers contained ever more lessons, and over time Malik had given up on being frustrated with such things. Before long the continual learning was just a part of his daily routine with Meika. It had seemed normal after months of doing so. Now, after three years, to do anything different would have felt very strange indeed. He had learned a great many things from Meika and her efforts, and now that he understood the value of that knowledge he was grateful. It would have taken him an entire lifetime to learn on his own what Meika had taught him already, and he was learning more every day.

He quietly laughed at a time not so long ago when he had thought that 'Houseless' was a name, and not a state of being.

Being able to read was one of the greatest assets he now had, for it had given him a deeper insight into things he had previously done simply on instinct. He could now decipher the delivery schedules of the water carts that were posted around town, and position himself accordingly. He could record, albeit roughly, and memorize guard patrols to make getting through the city simpler. With words he was able to think more things, and act on them more deeply.

He was content with that, for a time, but eventually his studies had branched away from just language. Meika had taught him some very basic magic, too, but he had found that using it often or needlessly was tantamount to suicide, for it left him feeling weak and helpless if he used too much. She was by far the better mage of the two, and so Malik left most of that sort of thing to her, if the need ever arose. She was quite adept at snaring scorpions with her magic, which allowed Malik to blast them with rocks using some magic of his own. Using this method he was able to kill larger and larger scorpions, feeding the two of them more and more.

At first it had just been for the sake of the feeling. He wanted it, needed it. Without it he felt tired and empty, and every night that Meika was not with him was much the same: colder, harsher, and restless. In the beginning she had visited Malik only once a day, to teach him something and spend some small amount of time with him. Then she would depart again, and he would have to wait another day to see her.

However, one day she had simply stopped leaving, and had started traveling with the young boy. Malik had not known how to speak many words then, so he hadn't been able to ask her in the past. Something must have happened to her that had brought her back to him to stay, but though he had asked many times, since learning how, she would never say. He had long since given up on trying to unravel the history in it, choosing instead to relish in the present.

His days after she joined him were full of new feelings from Meika, or because of her. It was not long before there was another feeling he did not recognize and did not understand blossoming in his heart. This one was solely his, not a gift from Meika. He felt it only when he looked at her, or when she laughed and hugged him tightly. Though the emotions he felt from Meika gave him energy, it was this new and mysterious emotion that had given him life and purpose in the last two years. It was this emotion that had driven him to learn, to grow smarter and stronger, and to protect her.

He cleared his head of the memories, having reached his destination. The baker was just putting up his open sign when Malik arrived, as he always was. Once he had learned to speak, Malik had found that there were more rare individuals like the water-boy he had known for so long: the sort that would associate, at least in secrecy, with a houseless street-urchin like him.

Malik didn't say anything to the baker, nor the baker to him. The young changeling simply reached into a pouch he wore around his neck, and pulled out one of the golden coins, passing it to the store owner. This exchange was many months practiced now.

In return, the store owner passed Malik a heavy sigh, and a much lighter bag of day-old bread. "How many are you feeding now?" the baker asked suddenly. He didn't speak much when Malik came to purchase from him, for fear of drawing attention to the common meetings, but today something was clearly on his mind.

Malik quietly pondered. He knew that after he and Meika had eaten the two of them would go in search of younger changelings and give them the leftover bread. Malik hated wasting the food, thinking they would be better off saving it, but Meika insisted, and with Malik she always got her way.

"Seven. Or nine," Malik said concisely, shrugging his shoulders. "Hard to say how many we will find today. Six last time. Three dead."

The baker looked taken aback at Malik's calm, simple delivery of the news that he had found dead changelings in the back streets.

"We buried them," Malik said simply, thinking that perhaps this might set the baker at ease. The last thing he needed was for the baker to refuse to do business with him anymore. "Can't burn them. Guards will come if we do. Bury them is all we can do," he explained simply.

Softhearted Meika had said so many times as she and Malik strained to dig graves in the ever-shifting desert sand, side-by-side.

The baker closed his eyes and let out a shaky sigh, clearly composing himself. "At least you give them that much," he whispered quietly. With a sudden, determined nod he tossed another bag of old bread to Malik. "Find as many as you can, and feed 'em... I don't want to hear you say you buried more just because I didn't give away a few slices of bread," he muttered.

Malik looked at the second bag in his hooves with clear surprise. He fished around hurriedly in the pouch around his neck for another coin, but the baker just growled and shook his head.

"Don't bother, just take the bag and go," he muttered, clearly still conflicted over the matter.

Malik took his muzzle out of the pouch, looking at the baker curiously. Being given something for free was not uncommon from some of the establishments he frequented, but it was rarely so much. Nor was this baker particularly prone to such generosity.

Malik realized the guilt for what it was. Anything else said about dead changelings or the extra bread would not help him in the least with the baker now, he knew, and so he dropped the questions that were on the tip of his tongue.

"Thank you," Malik said quietly, before clutching the bags in his fangs and trotting off, leaving the distraught baker to himself, like he had wanted. He had never understood why seeing or hearing of dead changelings disturbed people with houses so badly. Meika had been much the same at first. The sight of a dead, younger changeling would set her to tears in those days. Now even she seemed to bear it with the same sort of stoicism that Malik did; not nearly as detached, but detaching herself all the same.

Three long years of wandering the streets could do that to even the most fragile girl.

Malik abandoned his reflections on the memories as he made his way back to where he had hidden Meika. He knew before he even got there that she would not likely be alone when he arrived, despite his best efforts patrolling. The youngest houseless children seemed drawn to her as if by some otherworldly force, and always managed to find her no matter how well-hidden Malik tried to make her be. Still, better that it should be the young ones finding her, for they were almost entirely harmless. 

They also provided a slight sense of security by simply being around, as well, for if they felt safe enough to visit Meika, then it meant none of the more violent or powerful older changelings were nearby.

There were two such young changelings with her when he arrived, and though he was quietly jealous and mildly upset, he did his best to ignore such feelings as Meika talked to them happily and petted their manes. Three years ago he had been just the same as them: voiceless, wordless, nameless, and hopeless. Meika, and only Meika, could give these things to changelings like them.

He allowed the sight of her happy face, and the small, knowing smile she gave him to calm his nerves. Her eyes apologized silently for dividing her attention, which Malik had craved since the two had met. Malik let it go at that, a smile of his own coming to his face as he instantly forgave her. He even allowed himself a small laugh as the two younger changelings began to push and shove one another, the beginnings of a fight for Meika's affections, which she quickly stopped with a scolding tone and a directed feeling of disappointment.

"Was the baker there?" she asked quietly, her voice far too melodic for the setting it was in. She had one of the two younger changelings under each foreleg now, keeping them apart but holding them close to her to warm them and make them happy.

"Is he not always?" Malik replied with a small smile, unable to deny that the sight of Meika holding the young boys was nostalgic.

"You mean, 'Isn't he always,'" Meika clarified politely, correcting his speech, which was needlessly formal and wordy.

"I suppose," Malik sighed, having found it was better to admit he was wrong than to try and defend his meager knowledge of whatever subject he was being corrected on. "He gave more than I paid," he admitted, tossing one bag of bread to Meika, while holding the other up for her to see.

Meika's eyes went wide with surprise as she caught the bag with her magic for only a brief moment, her hooves otherwise occupied. "Why did he give us so much?" she asked skeptically, though her tone remained more astounded than suspicious.

It pained Malik to know that, despite her pure and noble heart, his cynicism and paranoia were slowly starting to rub off on her, as much as her righteousness and kindness were on him.

"Guilt," Malik explained quietly. "He asked how many we needed to feed today. I told him perhaps as many as nine, us counted."

"Ourselves included," Meika corrected automatically, looking over the bag once more.

"And I told him about the three we buried," he continued, ignoring her correction. "This bothered him. He gave me the extra bread saying to feed as many as we can. Perhaps he feels it is his fault little changelings die," he mused idly.

"Children, not little changelings," Meika corrected again. She let out a heavy sigh as she held the bag tightly, reflecting on his story. "You shouldn't tell people things like that, Malik. Normal people don't understand what it's like," she whispered, though she hardly needed to explain that much to him. "If the deaths were the fault of one simple baker, then our lives would not be so hard," she said with a sad smile. "You shouldn't make people feel guilty, especially when they are so helpless."

"I did not mean to," Malik replied with a tired sigh, having been lectured similarly many times. "I do not know what else to say to people like them. Why keep the truth a secret, except... especially if they will give us more food?" he asked gruffly, correcting himself along the way.

"Because it isn't right," Meika replied simply, opening the bag and giving each of the little changelings clinging to her a piece of bread, which they voraciously consumed, looking entirely content as the munched away, still cradled by Meika's loving embrace.

Malik just sighed, knowing that he was defeated, and that to argue against her idealism would be pointless. "How is it that you always know what is right?" he asked grumpily, more to himself than to her, plopping down on the alleyway floor. "Why am I always wrong?"

"You're not always wrong, Malik," she said, taking a scolding tone with him for thinking so negatively.

"Even when I say I am wrong I am wrong!" he declared snidely, unable to stop himself from doing so. Despite the maturity he had been made to shoulder, he could not help feeling every bit the immature child when Meika scolded him, and the urge to retaliate was sometimes too great.

Meika looked at him as if she had something to say about his attitude, but simply dropped it at that. She didn't like fighting, so she would let it go. She sighed, turning her attention away from him for a moment, and tending the two younger changelings, who had finished their bread and were asking for more by gesturing to the bag, and their mouths. Meika gently told them no, in the simplest way she could, though it pained her to do so.

"I don't always know what's right," she admitted quietly, and her tone seemed somewhat sad. "It's more a feeling I get than something I know. Haven't you ever felt that something was wrong, so you did what you thought was right?" she asked, giving him a sidelong glance. Her beautiful eyes held his own mercilessly, and there was no escape from her question.

"You ask a silly question," Malik replied at length, ending his words with a chuckle. "Three years ago I saved you from a bad thing, yes?" he asked, giving her a cocky smile as he opened his own bag of bread, popping a piece into his mouth. "And now for three years I have kept you out of more bad things. Is this not the right thing, like you say?"

"A bad situation," Meika corrected gently, but the smile on her face and the slight flush of embarrassment tingeing her hide signaled her imminent apology. "I'm sorry," she said with a gentle sigh, eating a piece of her bread. "I never meant to be such a burden when I started staying with you, and-" she began, but Malik cut her off with a raised hoof.

"You are not a burden," he replied quietly, taking a bite of bread as he mulled over the next thing he wanted to say. The wording was confusing, and perhaps it did not mean what he wanted, but he would try. "The most burden you are is when you say you are a burden," he said slowly, rethinking each word just before he said it. "It is all that bothers me, because I do not think the same thing."

Meika blushed deeply as Malik promised, as eloquently as he could, that she was no burden to him at all. "Thank you, Malik," she whispered quietly.

"You, of all people, thank me for nothing," he replied simply, his small, almost loving smile all the more reply she needed.

A loud bell sounded further into the city, the tolling echoing through the alleyways and back. The rings totaled seven in all, and so Malik got back to his hooves, his piece of bread finished. "It is time to gather water," he said by way of dismissal, though it was most certainly true.

Meika sighed, the moment having passed between them in silence. "Alright. Be careful," she called warmly, Malik already making his way back towards the streets. He would need many bottles of water to go with the pieces of bread. Feed many mouths, quench many thirsts, as the saying he had made up himself went.

"I am careful always," he chuckled, leaving before she could correct him once more.





"We fed the hungry, warmed the cold, and when we were too tired to move after our labors of the day, we would collapse together in some nameless alleyway," Malik said quietly, his eyes closed in remembrance. "I struggled against her ideals, at first, but she was... overwhelming," he murmured. "Like the desert sun she had been named after. It burned at times, being close to her," he admitted.

"I did what I could to be a part of her world. She saw things I could not see, knew things I could not know. She hungered to teach me, and so I hungered to learn. I had never been so hungry in all my life as then." He grew silent, collecting his thoughts once again, attempting to steel himself. "She was like a fire in my heart..." he whispered, but all of his moments of preparation could not save the sound of sorrow from his words as he choked on them.

"Malik..." Aurus whispered consolingly, his face wrought with something familiar to the ex-assassin... it was the same look he knew he was wearing himself. The sorrow reflected there only stung all the more.

"I lost her. I could not save her, and all the hells take me when I go for that one sin alone," he said breathlessly, his throat clenched with tears. "I loved her so..."

Aurus placed a hoof on his friend's shoulder, letting out a shaking sigh, but unable, for once, to find words that would be right. Malik braced himself for the pity he was certain would come; that cold and unforgiving emotion that made him feel hollow. A feeling he had felt for so long in his houseless life, and was all too familiar with.

It did not come, nor did it seem to be buried or hidden within Aurus, for not a hint of it showed in his eyes. Malik instead felt a warming feeling, one that he had not felt in a lifetime: the feeling of sincere sympathy, of someone who understood him, and could share his feelings. Aurus was not trying to imagine what Malik was feeling, or simply wishing him well; he was feeling it wholly, as evident by the tears starting to form at the corners of the king's own eyes.

He had never felt so helpless, so broken, in all his life. Not even on the day that Aurus had shown him the truth. Not even on the days where he had been starving, dehydrated, or freezing. For the first time ever, his guard was gone completely as he placed a hoof across to Aurus shoulder, returning the gesture, tears streaming fully now.

"Let it go," Aurus urged him quietly.

"Would that I could," Malik replied with a shuddering sigh, trying to reign in his tears for now. "But this, too, is something you must know. Even through my sorrow, I will tell you everything," he said, closing his eyes and readying more memories. The most painful ones he had, the ones that nothing could cleanse from his mind.

"You have to know how I was broken, before you can understand how it is you fixed me," he whispered.





Five long years. He had known Meika for so long, it seemed. She was sixteen now, and even more beautiful than ever. Her long fangs were delicately curved, and as white as the glare from the sands themselves. Her deep green eyes were dangerous in a way, a labyrinth of beauty from which only Malik could return, and even then not unscathed. Her smile was more valuable to him than a thousand-thousand golden coins. Her laughter filled him more than a king's feast, and warmed him more than even the unrelenting sun. Her beauty burned, but he could not look away.

Nor could he ever tell her such things, though he had often tried to convince himself to do so. The older, more mature Meika would likely have laughed at his boyish enthrallment. It mattered hardly at all to Malik, though, that she did not know. No doubt she could feel his adoration, for it was too strong a thing to have never been felt by her. Even so, even with such a ready excuse for him to tell her as the ever-present feeling, he would never tell her that he had come to love her in five short years.

She must never hear him say so.

He had become her guardian instead, not her lover, as much to protect himself as her. When he embraced her it was to warm her. When he held her hoof it was to pull her down a different alleyway, keeping her safe from harm.

When he kissed her cheek it was in secret, before she was awake and the sun was up.

It was something he knew he should not do, but he could not help himself. She was so delicate even still, and every morning he had to touch her, just to prove that she was real.

"Malik?" Meika asked, giving him a curious smile as she felt everything clearly. Malik could not hope to hide it, but she, like him, said nothing. "You are staring again," she said with a light laugh, stopping her turn around the next corner just ahead of him.

"My apologies," he replied with a tired sigh, not the least bit surprised at the admonishment. He did not even bother to pretend he had not been staring at her anymore, for it was far out of his control.

Meika just gave him a sad smile, one far too understanding. "Where should we go from here?" she asked, trying to change the subject as much as get her bearings.

"Five east, and two north," Malik replied simply, knowing the area intimately. "Old Hodden doesn't like visitors, except for the young children he teaches, and this is his territory," he said simply. "Not that the old man can do much, but respecting elder territories is-" he continued, but Meika interrupted him with her soft voice.

"One of the rules," she finished for him. "I know better than to break your rules, Malik." She fixed him with a fond smile, letting out a gentle sigh. Malik had many rules that Meika was to follow, and all of them had helped her stay alive in the past five years at some point.

He was not the little boy she had grown up with anymore, not really. Gone were his days of only scrapping against changelings his size or smaller. He was well-built for his age. His hide was thick, and though he was short his muscles were powerful. His size often lent him the advantage, for he was eternally underestimated. Beyond that, because of Meika's companionship, he could use magic, and still be able to fight afterward. Rumors had spread among the changelings who could speak that he was not to be trifled with, and that approaching Meika was impossible. The female changeling could see whoever she wanted, but the opposite was not true. 

Malik was not fond of asking questions so much as he was of fighting.

On the occasions that she hadn't followed the rules, Malik had intervened to save her. Malik had fought ferociously for her sake against opponents much larger than himself, and much older besides, many times. However, no matter his zeal, he almost always lost to such changelings and would be beaten badly. Even though he knew he could not win, he would always fight them for her sake if there was no other way.

At first, Meika had tried to stay when he fought, but soon enough running and leaving him to fight had become one of the rules. When he fought, she would hide. No matter how battered he was, Malik would come to find her eventually. It had never failed. Whenever he returned, bleeding and bruised, but smiling at her, her guilt had been overwhelming. When she broke the rules, Malik suffered for it, not her. This realization had instilled a deeper respect for those rules, out of fear for her young and fiercely loyal guardian.

More than that, it instilled in her the desire to help him. She knew she was no fighter, though, and so she found another way.

She had been spending her afternoons for the past summer hiding beneath the eaves of a clinic in the southern portion of the city, listening and learning, as was her way. She had slowly begun to teach herself basic healing magic while Malik performed his daily duties procuring their meals and water, mapping patrols and territories. Her friends in the houses helped her to learn even more, and before long she was able to mend Malik after his fights. It made her tired, terribly so, but just like she had learned to run when Malik fought, Malik had learned to let her heal him. Anything else was foolish, for the end result was always the same.

The memories faded slowly as the silence between them grew, his thoughts and hers alike taking many turns in upon themselves. At last Meika could stand the quiet no longer, and so she broke the silence.

"Five east, two north," she repeated his directions to herself, taking a step away from the corner, signaling that Malik should lead. He would have insisted if she hadn't let him anyways.

Malik gave her a smile of apology at having to put up with his precautions, but where Meika was concerned no means of protection was too small to be enacted. She didn't say anything to his slightly sheepish look, merely began to follow behind, keeping quiet. Until they reached a safe-zone like the corner they had just left, talking was forbidden. It would draw attention to them, after all, and there was no telling who or what might have wandered ahead of them.

Malik walked ahead of her, checking every alleyway ahead of them, down to the last nooks and crannies, before they proceeded. It was slow going, but it was safe and sure, and with the hours edging towards twilight, it was the norm.

Malik paused suddenly at the next corner and put his back to it, looking north through the alley they had hoped to take. He threw up a hoof behind him, staying Meika's advance. The look he sent her over his shoulder was dire, much worse than when he had spotted something simply out of the ordinary. It was clear that abnormal was not the issue here: whatever he had seen was dangerous.

Meika walked as silently as she could towards him. Malik continued to look around the corner, his face grim.

"What is it?" she asked breathlessly, peeking around the corner from under his foreleg.

"Old Hodden," Malik whispered back, begrudgingly giving her a look.

The sight that greeted Meika chilled her blood. The elderly changeling, houseless since his earliest days, was lying on the alley streets, bleeding from his mouth. One of his legs was twisted badly, clearly broken. The old man was just gasping for air, while three younger changelings, about Meika's age, loomed over him, laughing. The largest among them tossed a leather bag to another, the clink of coins clearly audible.

"Thanks for the loot, ya old gnat," he chuckled, giving the old man a harsh kick that caused him to wheeze loudly, the wind clearly knocked out of him. "You old bastards are the easiest freakin' lot... Always loaded, and always brittle in the bones. That leg snapped right out," he guffawed, his cohorts laughing with him.

Meika tensed at his side, drawing Malik's warning gaze. "Do nothing," he commanded her instantly. "We go south, to the main street. Skirt it, cross if we must. Even if they find us, they will not chase us there," he pointed out. Though it could mean trouble with the guards, it was safer than staying around here.

"But the old man," she whimpered, looking on wide-eyed. She had never liked violence, and seeing it enacted on someone so helpless was even more distressing to her than usual.

"Could you even heal his leg fully?" Malik asked scathingly, already knowing the answer.

"I'm not that good..." Meika admitted, sounding very much as if she wanted instead to say that she could do it.

"Then he is dead already," Malik snapped with a huff. "An old man with a broken leg will starve."

"We have to do something," Meika pleaded, tugging on Malik's shoulder, tears in her eyes. Another pained, choking gasp and laughter echoed from down the alleyway.

"I cannot fight them," Malik said simply, a heavy sigh following his words. Meika's look and her pleading pained him greatly, but he knew what he was capable of. "There are too many, and they look strong. If Hodden is dead, let it be so," he whispered. "If he is not, then we will come back. Heal him, feed him... whatever you like, but that is only if he lives. We must let this go," he reiterated, his gaze cold and unrelenting. "The rules, Meika. We come first," he declared firmly, their first and most honored rule.

Meika bit her lower lip, her ears flattened. "I know," she whispered, tears in her eyes and her voice choked. "Alright... we'll come back after-" she began to relent.

Then the worst possible thing interrupted her.

"Hodden!" came the cry of a child from only a few alleys away. "Hodden!"

Meika's eyes shot wide, and her surprised gasp dropped Malik's heart into the frozen pit of his stomach, dread seizing him.

The child rushed out of an alleyway and to the old man's side, draping himself protectively over him.  "What you do to Hodden?" he cried fiercely, his high-pitched voice easily piercing the silence. The fear and anger in that voice knew no bounds.

"No..." Meika whispered, having lived long enough on the streets to know what came next. "No..."

"What we got here? A piece o' cave moss what sticks to the old man?" the biggest changeling chuckled, looking at the kid with a dire gleam in his eye, a dark chuckle quick to follow. "Little shits should know to keep in the shadows and stay quiet," he guffawed, his friends joining in his vile laughter as he stalked once more towards the downed old man, and his childish defender. "Time to learn a lesson, kid... how to mind yer own business."

"What you do to Hodden?" he cried out once more, as much cowering as shielding the elderly changeling now. The little changeling's eyes were pinched shut as he curled tightly, the assaulter's front hoof going high before striking down hard. The child cried out in pain, bouncing away from the force of the hit.

Meika was watching, frozen in place, and Malik was afraid that if he broke the silence then she would do the unthinkable.

His was not the stirring voice that spurred her.

"What... you do...?" the little changeling huffed, pushing himself shakily to his hooves.

That got the big changeling's attention. "Well damned if ya ain't a tough roach t' step on," he chuckled, rolling his muscled neck in a show of force. "Tell ye what... ye run off and leave the old man t' die, and ye just might live t' be an old man yerself one day. Fik can be generous, time to time. Whatcha say?" he asked, placing a hoof on the old-man's heavily-breathing, prostrate body, and smiling wickedly.

The little kid didn't understand the much-too-many words. All he knew was his beloved Hodden, his teacher, was in trouble. Hodden must have been to him what Meika had been to Malik, and so Malik knew without a doubt what the child's response would be.

"You leave!" he cried out, flicking his blue lenses into place and charging in.

His charge and Meika's were one and the same.

"Meika, don't!" Malik cried after her, reaching out just a second too late to catch her as she galloped hard, tears streaming behind her.

Clenching his fangs, he launched after her. If he could just catch her, perhaps they could still outrun the three male changelings, before it was too late. He dared not use magic to contain her, for if she struggled it would drain him, and he would not be able to protect her in the worst case.

"Leave him alone!" Meika cried loudly, her horn lighting as she ran.

"Huh?" the changeling called Fik asked as he turned his attention toward the sound of Meika's cry. The look of confusion on his face remained until it turned to one of absolute surprise. He gasped as his hooves left the ground and his back slammed into the wall of the building behind him, knocking the wind from his lungs. He slid down to the alley floor as the green aura around him began to fade.

Meika stumbled, her legs suddenly weak from the powerful, offensive magic she had used so wastefully. It was the first time she had ever attacked anyone, for Malik had always been the fighter between them.

"What the hell?" one of the other changelings asked in surprise, blinking as his boss got sent flying. As the surprise of the moment faded he noticed Meika, though, who was lying on the ground and panting from her sprint and magical exertions. "You freakin' bitch!" he growled, starting a run towards her, ready to return the favor of a sound beating. "Nobody messes with Fik's gang!"

He skidded to a halt suddenly as Malik vaulted the poor, exhausted Meika, his mind racing. She was breathing heavily, and her legs were shaking, as if she had spent a full day running. He gritted his teeth, realizing that trying to run would now be absolutely pointless. Her hit, despite its force and the fury behind it, would not stop that big changeling for long. He didn't stop running as he thought all this, and he came to the conclusion that he would have to fight.

Meika would have to run on her own. His blue lenses snapped into place just as he bore down on the changeling who had charged her.

"What the...?" he asked stupidly, clearly having expected the girl to be an easy, lonesome target. That notion rattled around in his skull as the shorter, younger Malik halted the majority of his forward momentum, putting the rest of it behind a fierce uppercut. His opponent danced up on his back hooves from the force of the blow, balancing there for a tense moment before toppling backwards, stunned. The second, inevitable hit of his head meeting the baked alley floor hardly made his recovery more likely.

"Meika, get up!" Malik hissed, his tone a mixture of anger and worry as he kept his eyes focused on the third, still-standing enemy. The big changeling was getting back to his hooves as well, and this was going to get messy very soon.

"I... I can't!" she gasped, and as Malik spared her a glance he saw that it was true. Her legs were too weak from the sudden expenditure of magic: he had experienced as much before during his lessons, many years ago.

"No..." he whispered to himself, his mind racing as he tried to think of something.

"Malik! Malik, you have to run!" she pleaded suddenly, and time stopped for him as her terrified, pained voice set fire to his every nerve.

Run...

The very same word screamed at the base of Malik's skull, echoing around inside. The voice of instinct, the voice of fear, willed him just as strongly as Meika's voice did. For one seemingly endless moment he desired nothing more than to relent. To turn and run.

Yet, as he returned to reality and saw Meika lying helpless, that most sensible of notions vanished completely.

"I can't," he whispered shakily, turning back to the other larger changeling who was now charging at him. Clenching his jaw against his fear, Malik readied himself for the fight. The element of surprise would not be on his side this time. He would have to use all of his knowledge and skill. Since meeting Meika, he had never truly fought for his life. Once she was safely away, he almost always ran. Their lives came first.

But this time, Meika was not safely away. This time, he could not run. This time he feared his fight would determine whether or not he lived or died. It would decide the same for Meika. This was why he had spent his young life hiding from changelings the size his enemies now were. They were not simply unafraid of death: they created it, as evidenced by the beaten, elderly Hodden, who was sure to die if not treated soon.

No, this was no simple brawl over food or water.

The second changeling was nearing him now, and the time that had previously seemed stopped resumed all too quickly. Malik's many experiences in fighting afforded him a skillful dodge of the first haphazard swipe, his enemy's stride off by just enough to grant him that. Still, as the punch flew past his head and grazed his cheek, Malik's heart stammered with fear.

His enemy was fast. Incredibly so, and strong for his size. The hoof that grazed his cheek tingled with magic overflowing from the muscles it had been pumped into to fuel the attack. If not for the good fortune of an ill-paced charge, Malik would have suffered dearly for underestimating his opponent.

He gasped as he finished his leap out of the way, the sting on his cheek dulled by adrenaline alone. The same source of fearful, exhilarating energy had him panting despite his less-than-daunting efforts so far. he could hear his heartbeat thrumming in his ears, setting its own fast-paced rhythm, as it always did when he fought. This time, it was beating just a little bit faster.

He kept himself between the sadistically grinning changeling and Meika. "Lucky juke, kid," his enemy congratulated, wearing a smug smirk that showed that he understood Malik's good fortune for what it was. "You won't be so lucky twice!" he roared, whirling a kick suddenly without the slightest hint of intending to do so.

Malik barely got his hooves in front of him to block it in time, caught off guard by the unorthodox move. To lash out in such a way with only a single hind-leg was difficult to say the least, and to do so with such force and grace... this enemy was not normal. This enemy was powerful, and spoke clearly unlike his cohorts.

He was like Meika. He was not born houseless like Malik, but had been cast out. He had been trained for battle in his life before the streets, however long ago that was.

Malik knew from the sting in his shins that he had been gravely mistaken. The most dangerous changeling in this group was not the biggest one, who was just now getting to his hooves, shaking his head clear of the impact Meika had set him through.

It was this changeling, whose skill was far beyond his own. But unlike this changeling, Malik was not fighting alone. Meika's fear and the ever-present bond he shared with her itched inside him as much as the anxiety of battle.

As the changeling's leg bounced off of Malik's block he used the rebound momentum to turn the other way quickly, attempting to lash out again with the same leg from Malik's left instead.

Malik's only advantage was to use a skill his enemy would not expect, something most houseless changelings could not use: magic.

As the kicking leg spun around behind his opponent, Malik struck. Channeling just enough to do the job, he pushed hard with a burst of air at the single leg his opponent was rotating on, blasting it out behind him hard enough to kick it into the air. His opponent's own rotational momentum continued its course, and without a leg to stand on he was at its mercy. The larger changeling's eyes widened in shock as he was left with far too little time to react. He tumbled over in the air, landing hard on his back, his wings crunching sickly beneath him.

Malik was on him before he had even hit the ground, wasting not a second of his fortunate advantage. He hammered blow after blow down on his opponent, breathing hard from the magical and physical exertions he had been forced to undertake. His opponent curled defensively, and each blow hurt Malik as much as his enemy, their thick hides clashing again and again. Yet with each blow Malik forced his opponent's blocking hooves down and out a little wider, until at last he punched through with a shout of fury.

His hoof met fang, and the loud crack that resounded was swiftly followed by an outraged cry of pain.

Malik, sensing that perhaps he might be able to press his advantage, raised his hoof for another blow. The big changeling was still across the alley, though he would likely be closing fast. Thinking to end this quickly and use his smaller stature to tire the only remaining adversary, Malik threw his blow down. Rather than watching his intended target though, for the strike was sure, he turned to check for the larger changeling, the one called Fik.

His eyes widened in surprise, and he hadn't the time to so much as cry out as the badly-beaten body of Old Hodden slammed into him, thrown by the angrily glaring large changeling who had so mangled him. The unorthodox move was completely unexpected, and Malik couldn't even grasp at the regret for his oversight through the panic and surprise.

The heavy elderly changeling's unconscious body bore him to the ground, halting the well-aimed blow that would have surely left his most skilled adversary unconscious like his friend before him. He struggled to his hooves as quickly as he could, but once he was back up he felt his heart sink just as sure as he felt the hoof collide with the side of his head, slamming him back down to the ground. The impact of his hard, hide-encased head hitting the alley floor cracked the baked earth there loudly.

His vision swam as he gasped from pain, his front hooves scrabbling uselessly. He wasn't sure which way was up, or where the ground was. All he knew was that he was lying down, and that unless he stood...

He let out a choking cry as another kick slammed into his stomach, blasting the air from his lungs.

"Little prick!" roared the changeling he had narrowly failed to immobilize. His outraged insult ended in a fierce growl as he kicked again, slamming Malik's side, and sending the ripples of pain up through his already damaged stomach, and making his head pound. He no longer had the air to cry out.

"That's it, Beck," grunted Fik, coming into Malik's vision beside his tormentor. Everything was blurry, and the edges of his sight were black, but he could see the green of their eyes both looking down at him, and the red of fresh blood falling from the mouth of the one he had pummeled.

"But this little shit-" he started, but stopped abruptly as the bigger changeling slapped him roughly on the back, the hard hit causing his next word to turn into a cough.

"I said that's it," Fik growled roughly, turning away from him. As Malik's vision started to return a little more clearly, he noted with dread the sick smile on the big changeling's face. "Forget the fang... this kid brought us bigger bugs t' fry," he chuckled. Try as he might, Malik couldn't turn his head to follow Fik as he walked away. He froze in fear as Meika suddenly let out a pained cry behind him.

"I guess you're right..." Beck conceded, glaring at Malik and spitting on him, the blood in his mouth making the saliva all the more coagulated. "Damn, ain't she a pretty one!" he declared suddenly, apparently getting a clear view of Meika for the first time. Malik could practically see Fik holding her up by her mane in his mind's eye, her face scrunched in pain as he displayed her like some prized scorpion on an afternoon hunt.

"Malik!" Meika cried, and he could tell that there were tears in her eyes, for they were in her voice as well.

"So, who's goin' first?" Fik guffawed, and the sudden thud and feminine gasp of pain caused Malik to close his eyes. It did little to stop the all-too-real imagined sight of the big changeling slapping her to the ground.

"Might as well be you," Beck said with a sigh. He chuckled darkly as he looked at his unconscious friend. "I don't think Artez is awake enough."

"Heh, ain't that a bitch," Fik laughed, and Malik struggled to turn his torso and get his hooves under him.

"No!" Meika screamed, but it ended in another harsh slap to her face, one that Malik had turned enough to see. Oh, how he wanted to stand! How he wanted to push every last ounce of his being into his legs and crush Fik like a bug, squeeze until every last speck of air was purged from his body!

But he hardly any air left in his own lungs, and it all vanished as a hoof stepped roughly on his back, slamming him down. "You're tough, but you ain't that tough," hissed Beck above him, a hint of glee in his voice. "You lose, gnat."

"No..." Meika whimpered, and Malik clenched his eyes shut, too ashamed and afraid to look at what was sure to happen to her. He had seen it before with other houseless females, many times, and always he had looked away, taken another alley. He hadn't the breath to even cry out to her, to apologize for his failure. He couldn't even whisper her name, though his lips moved with the effort all the same.

He couldn't save her, and the shame was more crushing than the hoof grinding against his back. The pain of what was happening to her, his dear, sweet Meika, was more powerful than the agony of the blood vessels in his gossamer wings being shredded to pieces.

"Ya sure ya don't want her first?" Fik asked. "Ya lost a fang over this, man."

"Oh, I'm sure," Beck chuckled darkly. "I've got a better idea for my revenge on this little shit."

"Oh yeah?" Fik asked curiously, clearly intrigued.

"Yeah..." Beck hissed, turning the sharp noise into low, dark laughter. Malik could feel the irresistible force of magic pulling his eyes back open.

"I'm going to make him watch."