//------------------------------// // Chapter 10 - Khiyana // Story: The Mark of Eran // by Tofazz //------------------------------// Khiyana         Athaal carefully crawled out of the linen sheet, then gently wrapped it around Moxie again. The night had been silent, apart from a few whimpers from her while asleep. There had been little point for him to share the bed with her. The sickness now had a complete hold of her, fever coming and going throughout the night. Even with the cold night winds, he had woken by the heat radiating from her at times. She breathed heavily, and the mark had grown even further during the night, now it grasped entirely around her eyes. Her ivory fur began greying to near blackness, giving her a colorless mask which was void of life and joy.         He looked up to the sky. The clouds had vanished during the night, and as the sun began to rise he knew it would become a warm day. The light glimmered in the dew left behind from the night, and already he felt the heat even as early as it was. They needed to plan carefully and travel as soon as the heat allowed for it. Every minute could mean the difference between life and death for Moxie and their unborn foal.         The soldiers still slept underneath the shadow of the makeshift roof they had made last night. Athaal squinted slightly, fending the glare away with his hoof. At the edge of the camp, watching over the desert they needed to traverse, he saw Arien. He approached the general, shifting through loose stone and wet grass on his path. He cleared his throat and gained Arien’s attention before bowing slightly, waiting for permission to sit next to him.         Arien turned to face him, and there were large patches of dark fur growing underneath his eyes. His facial lines were drawn, each wrinkle coming with his advanced age growing in strength. He smiled slightly and bowed in turn, allowing the company in his solitude.         Athaal sat down, but remained quiet. He joined in on watching the desert, if it could be called that anymore. The orange sand they had traveled over till now, only interrupted by a select few oases and rocks, almost completely gave way now for the green grass and trees. The horizon showed a lush color different from the unforgiving desert. And even farther, he saw mountains where he assumed waterfalls gave life to the surrounding animals and environment.  The distant mountains rose high above the highest buildings in Ma’Galag,.  The presence of birds, only tiny black dots in the distance,  supported his speculation as they circled around the mountain itself. He finally turned to Arien. “Have you thought about it?” he asked, knowing full and well that there was no need to elaborate.         “I have…” Arien said, not removing his eyes from the shifting land in front of him, “I don’t know if I can join you.”         Athaal sighed. He was aware of this possibility, but deep down he had sincerely hoped that the general would join them. “I understand,” he simply answered.         “No, you really don’t.” Arien turned his green eyes at Athaal. “Not even I understand it.”         At first stumbled by the brashness of the general, it quickly turned to curiosity. “What do you mean?”         “I’ve heard stories about Equestria, and I’ve seen those stories when I’ve visited. They don’t care whom you choose to take to your bed, they don’t mind if you prefer the soft lips of a mare or the rigid touch of a stallion. For me, it would be a dream come true to live there, free to not hide who I am.” Arien stopped, his lips unmoving as his whole body reflected the hint of sadness he had in his voice in the way his back was slightly more hunched forward than normal and hoofs rested on top of his thighs. Most of all, he looked at Athaal with a forlorn gaze, truly lost in his decision. “I’ve lived in Saddle-Arabia my whole life, and it is my home for good and bad. How can I just turn my back to it?”         Athaal remained silent. He tried his best to understand the old general, but it was all so illogical for him. He knew about Arien’s preferences, and while he struggled slightly with them, it was not his choice and it did not affect him. To be able to be whom you are, without the fear of any judgment from society is something everypony wants. He also knew that he was the only one in Ma’Galag who knew about it, having stumbled across Arien with one of his lovers during one of his patrols. If it had been anyone else, Arien would most likely have been hanged. “What will you do then?” He wondered.         “You asked me to get you to the graveyard and over the border of Equestria, I will do that. Once we reach the border, I will leave you and report back to the throne about our findings and your plans.” Arien sighed, and Athaal was almost certain he heard a faint crack in the general’s voice. “For so is my duty, when next we meet after this it might be as either enemies or friends; that’s all up to the political powers we unleash. I would prefer the latter…”         Athaal furrowed his brows. He still had a hard time understanding this decision, but his respect for Arien made him stop any further attempts to change his mind. “It is what it is, Arien, my view of you will not change based upon this decision. You will remain my friend, no matter what,” Athaal stated.         “Thank you, I’m glad you view it as such.” Arien tried a smile, “How does Moxie fare? Good all things considered?”         Athaal nodded, “Yeah, she’s still sleeping. I’m just waiting for Trixie to come back then I’ll wake her so we can attempt to soothe her mind.”         “Comes back?” Arien asked curiously.         Athaal’s lips curled into a deep, almost devious, grin. “Not everypony prefers the rod, Arien, and my brother finally got brave.” Athaal said, and laughed heartily as Arien’s cheeks turned red.         “So, Trixie and he…?”         Athaal chuckled, “Yes, this night my brother confessed his feelings for Trixie. Everypony knew from the way he danced around her.” Athaal leaned forward and whispered, “They left in the middle of the night, once everypony was asleep, or so they thought.” He said and winked coyly.         Arien laughed, “That’s quite a turn of events; who’d imagine that? I’m glad something good has come from this trip, not just… death and misery.”         Athaal put a hoof onto Arien’s shoulder. “We will not forget the sacrifices of those who have fallen. Whether in Equestria, or home, we will pay our respects,” he said in a sullen tone, then smiled again to lighten the mood. “Keep an eye out for when they exit the forest; if I know my brother they will not arrive at the same time. Saif might have been with mares before, but never has he confessed his feelings for one.”         Arien’s smile almost matched his own, and they both broke out in laughter. He hadn’t laughed like this in a long time; his mind was constantly occupied by the well being of his wife. Now that they were getting close to their destination and a cure, it was like the knots inside of him finally loosened, allowing his mind to focus on other matters. They were not very important matters, but the small joys that made life better. He put a hoof over his muzzle as the rummaging of soldiers waking up came from behind them. Arien did the same, but the guilt of laughing sat over his facial features like a ghost, yet they both still shared a stifled laugh.         Athaal shook his head and patted the general on the back before he rose and made way to Moxie again. With the soldiers waking up he had the need to remain next to her, no matter the cost. For even with the sudden outburst of laughter, he still knew the morale was low within the group, and he knew what soldiers could do if given the opportunity. He also knew that Saif would come towards their part of the camp pretty soon, and he wished to be there when he finally got to greet this wicked mare as his sister-in-law.         He sat down next to the cinders left of the fire and turned to Moxie. He shook her slightly in an attempt to wake her, putting on his best smile as her eyes fluttered open. It took everything he had not to flinch back. Not only had the black mark grown drastically over the night, it also had begun to grow within her eye: black lines stretched towards her orange iris.         Moxie barely moved her head. “What happened?” she wondered in a hoarse voice.         Athaal leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You fell sick again…” he said and pushed aside a strand of hazel hair lying over her muzzle.         “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean too,” she whimpered.         Athaal took hold of her and placed her on his stomach, allowing her to rest slightly elevated. He nuzzled her mane near her ear. “Don’t be, it happens. We’re almost there, this night we will reach it,” he comforted.         “What if I fall sick again? Like last night?” she asked, her eyes staring out into the thin air.         “Then I will carry you. Even if I need to carry you all the way from here, we’ll reach it,” he said plainly as if there was nothing to it, both of them knew there was no lie in his voice; he was prepared for it.         She turned and kissed him softly, “Thank you…” she said, her voice weak.         “How are you feeling now?”         She stretched out her hoof and tried bending it back and forth, then flinched. “My bones hurt, and my mind is hazy…” she answered as her eyes began to shimmer with moisture; they both knew that this meant they were running out of time.         He lay a hoof to rest upon Moxie’s stomach, feeling how her heartbeat, together with the foal’s, pulsed through his hoof. Moxie let her muzzle fall into the groove of his neck, and sighed warmly. Athaal cradled them both, forcing his mind to focus on what lied ahead afterwards.         Out of the corner of his eye he saw Saif approaching Trixie was nowhere to be seen yet. As the brown pegasus sat down Athaal grinned at him, gaining a blush in return. Saif put down a blanket near the cinders and hastily began to clean his wristblade, avoiding all eye contact.         Moxie turner her head slightly and looked at Saif, then turned curiously towards Athaal. “What’s the matter with him?” she whispered in question.         Athaal smiled, “He came from the forest, and Trixie is nowhere to be found. Just wait and see where she comes from.”         Almost on cue, the azure unicorn exited the edge of the forest, making her way towards them. She sat down close to Saif, her magic aura wrapping her messy mane, pulling and dragging it to straighten it out. Trixie as well avoided eye contact to the best of her abilities.         Moxie giggled, earning a harsh glare from Trixie. “They finally got together?” she asked.         Athaal nodded, “All evidence points to that direction.” He whispered, then turned his attention to Trixie. “Trixie, could you attend to Moxie after you’re done freshening up?”         Trixie blushed, then looked at him. “I could try, but I’m not sure what good it would do. The book contains no immediate ways of providing relief for Moxie if we had all the ingredients I could help her properly.”         Athaal fell silent; his mind raced over the possibilities. They could push on now and walk the rest of path in daylight, but there was no way Moxie would be able to make the trip in her condition; he would need to carry her. The other option, waiting for the sun to fall enough for them to travel with ease, was also not desirable. With Trixie not being able to do anything at this moment, it was risky. Athaal swallowed hard, the sudden lump in his throat threatening to explode, just the thought of losing Moxie made it hard for him to think straight.         He watched the desert, seeing the heat bend the air in front of them more and more as the sun rose higher, climbing closer to its peak. Through the haze he could see the highest spires of the graveyard. They seemed so close, yet he knew it was a long way; it would take most of the day to get there. They would need to leave all supplies here and only take as much water they could if they were to travel at day, along with the bag of ingredients for the spell. Tonight they would be reliant on the hospitality of the Equestrian guards to get food.         “We need to travel right away,” he said, immediately feeling the eyes of those sitting around him as they halted whatever they were doing.         “That’s not a good idea,” Saif said, and bowed slightly.         “It’s not, but we have no other choice.” Athaal stated.         “With the morale as low as it is, I doubt we could persuade the others to travel over the desert in the blistering heat.”         “I’m sure we can with enough gold.”         “What about Moxie?” Saif said and turned his gaze at her. “In her condition?”         “Do you really think it will be better tonight? No, we need to leave as soon as possible.” Athaal responded, his eyes betraying his cold demeanor. He was afraid, the relief of being close to their target had been replaced with the fear of losing everything he held dear to him. Even with calm and secure motions, his insides thrashed, threatening to break him down into tears where he sat.         “Saif, Trixie, leave us.” Moxie said loudly with an authority in her voice that no one expected from her.         Saif and Trixie looked at each other, as if uncertain how to react. Saif quickly rose and offered the unicorn a hoof. She took it and joined him, and they both left. They headed towards the edge of the forest again, where they settled down close to each other. From the side of the soldiers they saw Arien wave his hoof at Saif, giving him a mocking smile, again leaving the watanï flustered.         Athaal looked on as Moxie slowly rose from her position in his lap. She looked at him with a caring gaze. “How are you?” she simply asked with a labored voice.         “I’m fine?” he answered skeptically.         “No, you’re not. You, more than anypony, have struggled through these days. You don’t have to be strong for me anymore, Athaal. We’re close, and if we wait till the worst of the sun has given away, I won’t mind.” She leaned forward and kissed him softly, before embracing him. “I’ll be fine, I promise,” she said as her body lost the strength to hold her up. Athaal caught Moxie as she fell. She breathed heavily, and the strain was showing clearly on her face. She was right, he wasn’t okay. Sometimes he wanted to lie down next to her, making sure he was with her till the very end. He never wanted to give up, but he wanted it to be over. His mind was strained; the constant worrying, the on and off battles with his own rage fueled by whatever happened to his eyes. He admitted to it, he wasn’t okay, but no matter what she said he couldn’t show it, for she needed him and he knew that as well. “What about you? Everypony can see how you struggle.”         Moxie laughed, took a deep rattling breath, and closed her eyes. “Yes, you’re right, but a little longer won’t hurt.” She buried her muzzle into his fur. “After all, how could I give up now? We’re going to become parents; I need to be there with you for that.”         He felt the lump in his throat swell up again, this time cracking his voice as he spoke. “That’s true, there’s no way you could leave me this close, is there?”         Her eyes remained closed, giving no answer. It had taken the last of her strength to talk, and now she breathed heavily. Athaal kissed her softly, and remained completely still, gazing upon her. There was a certainty in him that they would make it, but yet, seeing the mark upon the face of the mare he loved so, he couldn’t help but to fear for them both. He had long since admitted to himself that he had no wish to live without her, and he would fall into despair; this prospect terrified him.         He turned and looked over at Saif. The relationship between Trixie and his brother was still tense. They sat close, making small idle chatter but nothing more. It almost seemed like Trixie had regrets about what had happened, for she did not smile, nor did she offer Saif much of her focus. Rather, she remained deeply indulged in the book they found in the temple. Saif tried to embrace her, only to be pushed away, gently compared to the other times he had tried it. His show of affection got rewarded with a loving kiss upon his lips. A certain mirth came over the unicorn as Saif blushed from it. Athaal beckoned them both over. “Saif, we’re leaving after the worst of the sun has breezed over. I want you to leave an hour ahead of us to scout, be it linacs or a patrol of Equestrian soldiers, I want to know before we meet them; you will head out and meet us at the entrance of the graveyard. Trixie, could you stay close to Moxie? I’m going to make something so Moxie can rest while I pull her. The book might not say anything about an immediate relief, but I’m sure there are some things in there that might help if it is needed.” Athaal ordered. Saif quickly bowed and started for Arien, taking the order without question. The watanï knew that he would need to leave immediately as the heat would prevent him from flying. He took multiple canteens of water and flung them around his neck before wrapping himself in a white cowl on top of the dark armor. He returned and shifted through the little belongings he had left near their fire; finding the horn he hung it around his neck. He leaned forward and kissed Trixie on the cheek before he whispered something in her ear, and then he left. * * * * *         Athaal looked down upon his work, pleased with the result. The bamboo tied together with the white fabric made for a good and wide stretcher, with enough room for both Moxie and provisions. He tried to adjust the straps onto himself and pulled forward a little bit. It scraped heavily against the soil; right now it was easy to pull, but he reckoned that it would become significantly heavier with weight upon it. Sadly, there was no time left for him to fix it because they needed to leave soon.         Trixie was left tending to Moxie as best as she could. She might have healing magic from Equestria that could help soothe the pain his wife was going through, but Athaal didn’t know with any certainty. He was unsure how long it was that he had been away, but the sun was at its peak, making it unbearably hot even within the normally cool forest. Stopping by the lake, he made his way to the edge and filled up on water. He felt the weight upon him increase with each filled canteen. Satisfied that he had enough for all of them to use on the next leg of the journey, he took a deep breath and began heading back to the camp. As he crossed over the still damp and rich soil, it slightly gave away underneath him as he stepped forward. He pushed aside branches and traversed over logs as he pushed through the forest encircling the water.         He froze as the sound of fighting reached his ears through the twines and thick brush in front of him. He left both the stretcher and the water and began to run, his throat constricting as his thoughts raced over what could have happened. Perhaps the linacs had found them, or some other beast. The ever present danger of a scorpolid matron defending its nest was there, being as large as four ponies it was a dangerous encounter for anypony. He pushed the thought away, if they had somehow put up camp near a scorpolid nest it would have attacked sooner.         At the edge of the main camp the remaining soldiers, Sati and Morad, stood eye to eye against Arien and a watanï. Behind them Trixie stood with the book closed and held up to her chest. Her horn glowed brightly, ready to blast magic at any target that approached her. Athaal ran, leaping over rocks and crags in hopes of getting there as fast as possible. Getting closer, he saw Namir’s neck oozing with blood, still he remained defiant to whatever had happened.         Athaal yelled loudly, ordering them to stop. His breath grew heavier with each leap taken. He stopped between the two forces and took a deep breath. Gazing over at the soldiers, he saw the tip of the sword belonging to Morad painted in red, dripping down on the sand. The stab had been deep, and most likely intended to kill, as the blood covered half of the blade. The soldier had most likely struck Namir while the other distracted him: the most dishonorable way to strike.         “Put down your blades! What’s going on?!” Athaal commanded, his stare fixating with an ice cold rage towards Morad. Deep down, he knew that the watanï most likely would not make it because of the wound inflicted to him.         Morad raised his blade, pointing it at Athaal, “You… you have led us to our death. We are taking our chances at surviving the trip back rather than going up to the graveyard,” the soldier snarled in retort, his voice deep and angered.         “We’re this close to our destination, and you wish to desert?” Athaal hissed, moving forward as he pushed away the blade pointed at him.         “There are linacs up there, we’ll never make it.” Sati said in a calm voice behind Morad.         “What gives you that idea?”         “It’s simple logic; if the linacs seek fresh blood to sate their hunger, of course they would wait for a dragon. With a full squad we might have made it, but not only with us.” Morad quipped.         “Then leave! The crown will have your heads for breaching this contract.” Arien growled.         Morad took a step forward, grinning deviously. “Oh, do you think so, Stallionstuffer? Yes, we know all about how the great general Arien prefers the company of stallions. Don’t you think the crown would rather reward me to rid his kingdom of one such as you and a betrayer as well?” The soldier gloated, his vision so focused on the general that he had seemingly forgotten Athaal as he walked forward.         Athaal unsheathed his sword and held it out in the path of Morad. Annoyed, the soldier looked over at Athaal as he bumped into the flat edge of the sword. Athaal set his eyes into Morad, feeling how they slowly began to burn.         The two soldiers had had taken a path from which there was no redemption. Athaal would be in his full right to kill them, even to hold a public execution to show their shame and dishonor. He glanced quickly towards Moxie; she still remained unmoving apart from her stomach going up and down with small breaths. This time Athaal could not risk giving out the judgment; if he got hurt in any way during a fight it bode badly for everything they worked for.         “If you, or your friend attempts to take one more step, I will engage you,” he said calmly, but his voice vibrated with anger and fear. “You may leave, now, but you will do no more harm here, nor will you get any provisions. The life I grant you is more than what filth like you deserve.”         Namir groaned, then collapsed to the ground and remained unmoving. Arien hunched down over him and removed his mask, revealing a face drained of all color. Arien quickly moved his ear to Namir’s chest and attempted to feel a pulse with a hoof. He looked up and shook his head at Athaal.         “He trusted you like a soldier, and you treated him like a beggar!” Athaal snarled. “You sicken me, Morad. Leave before anypony else gets hurt.”         “Not yet. First, we’re going to claim our reward.” Morad stated.         “Reward…?”         “You see, the unicorn we have saved, she’s already given her body to your brother as a thank you, and it’s only fair that we get the same treatment, isn’t it?” The soldier’s lips split into an ugly smile. “Whether she wants to or not, it’s not like you and an old general can stop us.”         “Arien, stay with Trixie. Do not move under any circumstances!” Athaal ordered, not removing his eyes from Morad.         “And after we’re done with that pretty little unicorn, we’ll move over to your wife… it’s not like she would mind, is it? After all, it’s only fair that she pays us as well.” Morad leered.         Athaal felt his heart stop, and his insides began to burn, exploding from his chest out to the very tip of his limbs. His vision grew darker, and the pain in his eyes grew in intensity. The muscles in his jaw tightened, and his teeth cracked loudly. Remaining stoically in place, his muscles began to tremble. Slowly the colors of what was in front of him faded, and the two stallions became two grey silhouettes mocking his existence. It reminded him of what happened near the linac, but something was different. Slowly losing his ability to think straight, the neck muscles twitched slightly and clamped down on his throat. The sounds around him became hollow and dampened, as if he was under water; only his rasping breath broke it.         “Move aside, Athaal, and we won’t touch Moxie,” came from Sati in a weak attempt to negotiate.         He only hesitated for a moment, thoughts came screaming through to protect her, above all else; nothing would touch her. The void that had built up within him exploded, and his vision blacked out along with his reason. Only hearing his own scream, he lashed out blindly towards the gray figures in front of him. Only sparks and loud clinks told him that his sword found its mark.         He struck out against the shadows he saw, just waiting for the time he would feel the sword bite into the flesh of his opponent. Each swing flew easily, strafing both the body and mane of his opponent. In a moment of clarity, he saw his sword strike upon the shield of Morad, effectively splitting the carapace husk in pieces and sinking deep into the hoof underneath. Morad howled in pain as Athaal yanked his sword back, preparing it for another swing. He swung as hard as he could, striking for the neck. When the swing was halted by another sword, Athaal trusted forward, piercing the bare throat of the soldier. Morad fell down, instantly losing strength in his body, and Athaal skewered his blade around, getting a satisfying loud crack as the eyes of his opponent rolled up into his skull. With his opponent beaten, the fog over his mind began to fade. The surge that had shot through him earlier retracted, and he almost felt it settling down into a void in his chest again, waiting for next time to erupt. Before he could gather his wits, his shoulder flared with an intense pain. Sati had taken the advantage and managed to land a deep cut. Athaal jumped back and clutched himself over the wound, letting out a groan as the pain pierced through the adrenaline.         Sati scowled at him as he circled around, trying to get a stab in with every few steps. With each dodge Athaal made, he felt his strength dwindle. His rage had strained his body to its maximum, and right now it was almost as if he could feel his muscles breaking down from the inside. Even in the midst of the fight he struggled to keep eyes focused. As he circled he chanced a look over at Morad; the body looked like it had been stricken by an enraged linac, so severe were the wounds Athaal had caused with his large blade. It worried him that he had no control over himself, but he could not allow himself to focus on that while his life was at risk. Athaal dodged and his hoofs buckled underneath him. Sati instantly seized the opportunity and managed to land a thrust into Athaal’s wounded shoulder. Clenching his teeth together, Athaal grabbed hold of Sati’s hoof and held him in place. Athaal roared in pain as he thrusted himself and his sword forward with a last effort of strength, effectively piercing through the couplings on Sati’s armor. His large blade hit with such force that it lifted the lesser soldier off the ground, and as Athaal let go of it. The pierced body continued its path, landing upon the rock with a clank. Athaal collapsed and hit the ground along with his blade, and adrenaline seeped out of his system. He felt the small cuts all over his body together with the now large gash at his shoulder. Trying to pull the sword out, he flinched, feeling it tug at his very bones.         Trixie and Arien quickly huddled over him, both looking at him with concern chiseled in their features. “Hold still,” Arien said, before he quickly pulled the blade out without warning. Athaal cried out in both surprise and pain. Instantly, Arien put pressure upon the wound, and ordered Trixie to run and fetch some leaves and some fabric.         “How’s Moxie? Did they touch her? I don’t remember.” Athaal croaked as Arien tended his wound.         “You didn’t give them the chance,” Arien reassured.         Athaal closed his eyes, “Good…” he said, barely flinching as more pressure was added to his shoulder.         The general tied a last knot and turned to Trixie, “Stay with him. If you find anything in that book that might help, please use it. We need a lot of water if we’re going to make it.” he said and left.         “Hold on, I’ll try to find something.” Trixie said and dove her nose down into the book. Athaal closed his eyes again, listening to the calm sounds around him; it was all so serene right now. He heard the sound of wind striking the leaves, riling up the birds within the forest, as well as the occasional flip of paper. The sun warmed him with comfort. It was around the time that they were supposed to leave and the sun no longer burned, rather it soothed.         Suddenly he felt a jolt of pain shooting through his shoulder, making him gasp for air. He turned and saw Trixie’s hoof putting pressure on the bandages. He looked at her with a mix of anger and confusion, uncertain of what was going on.         “Don’t fall asleep,” she simply ordered. Athaal sighed; she was probably right. He needed to stay awake, ready to move as soon as possible. He figured they could begin to move as soon as Arien returned. He flinched, feeling the wound pulse; it wasn’t lethal, but it could quickly become so as they traveled. The touch of the unicorn softened, slowly.         “Thank you…” she said softly. He looked at her, momentarily stunned by how vulnerable she looked when she said it. It became clear for him that she was not used to relying on others, nor being used to showing gratitude. Perhaps a life of struggles unknown to himself was what caused her to push everything away from her. He was inclined to ask more. He hated to admit it, but she had gained his curiosity and gratefulness. Perhaps what Saif saw in her was true, he wondered silently.         “Just help my wife, and we’ll call it even.” Athaal responded and tried a laugh.         “I will…” she responded quickly before falling silent again, returning her attention to the book. Trixie’s mirth was barely concealed as she found what she needed. She turned to Athaal and began to remove the bandages. He almost protested as blood began to drip down his fur, but seeing the determined gaze upon the mare he decided to wait and see what she was planning. As the wrappings were removed from him, she halted and took a deep breath. With closed eyes as she focused, her horn began to glow and magic embraced the white tissue on her own shoulder where the wound had been. It cracked loudly, slowly becoming liquid again. She winced as she pulled it off her own wound, revealing a bare, pink skin underneath; Athaal marveled at how effective it had been.         “Hold still, I’ve not done this before.” She said and slowly lowered the white mass towards him and began to recite words taken from the book.         Athaal gnawed his teeth shut, feeling how the white mass buried underneath his skin, pressing the wound shut. Almost as if it had a painkilling effect, the stings dissipated slowly while the liquid grew to a hard shell. Soon his whole shoulder grew numb, and the rush of adrenaline went to his head, causing him to become slightly light-headed. He remained still as magic flowed over him, swirling out in magnificent glowing lances, bending elegantly as if they were in water. He looked over at the unicorn, and saw how her eyes were forced shut, and how her forehead scrunched downwards as beads of sweat rolled down her fur. Tempted to make her stop, he decided against it, not knowing what would happen if he broke her trance.         The magic threads exploded soundlessly over him in a bright flash, remaining over his eyes like a star filled night with its fading flicker. He attempted to rise, having an entirely new sensation in his shoulder. He had never used magic to mend his battle wounds before. He rolled his shoulder around carefully, flinching as it stung with the movements. He tried putting pressure on it, crumbling down to the ground again as the muscles caved under him. He closed his eyes and sighed, forcing the frustration down. Trixie breathed heavy, supporting herself on her hoofs. Even as young as she was, the spell took much of her energy. Athaal marveled at the old priests once he figured the mental stamina they would need to have to perform their magic when he looked at Trixie. She was young enough to take the strain of the spell, but when Rishad had cast it his age had became apparent. Even with his poorly hidden admiration he was still determined to punish the church and the priests for the crimes they had done against ponies in the past.         “Is your shoulder okay?” He asked, an oddity rising within him, exchanging pleasantries with this mare wasn’t something that was at the top of his list.         She blinked, looking at him with slight puzzlement drawn over her, before she smiled meekly. “Yes… it worked wonders.”         He tried to rise again, in futility. “Damn it!” he winced through clenched teeth, cursing no one but himself for his powerlessness.         An odd sensation pressed him downwards, forcing his limbs to stretch out. He saw Trixie’s horn light up, forcing her magic upon him. He began to thrash slightly, barely getting any movement at all before the magic tightened around him. The magic began to constrict his limbs and neck, tightening its grip the more he moved. The magic was different, it didn’t hold any of the extravagant features the early ones did; nor did she look in the book for it.         He glared towards the unicorn, “Release me at once!” he ordered.         The unicorn looked at him with saddened eyes, “No…”         “What’s gotten into you?” Athaal asked, flexing his muscles even harder in attempt to break the magical chains.         Her horn flashed up, and the binds grew stronger. “You will remain lying down ‘til the wound has healed.” She stated.         “Who are you to give me orders?!” Athaal growled, yanking his hoofs harder, feeling the bonds loosen slightly.  “You may have the freedom to do as you please in Equestria, but here you should tread lightly!”         “Be quiet!” Trixie hissed in retort.         He froze momentarily, setting hard eyes at her, waiting for something more sensible.         “What do you plan on doing now? You can barely stand at this time. Whether you realize it or not, you need to rest; let the magic work and tend your wound.”         “I’ve got no time to rest, we need to get going, now!” he answered, feeling his insides boil up again.         “Then what? What good will it do if you died on your way there?” Trixie pointed towards the sleeping form of Moxie, “I will not let you stand up, if only for her sake. How do you think she would feel if she came to at the graveyard, without you at her side? You have struggled this far, and if you refuse to allow yourself to take the better choice, I will do it for you.”         “I will make it up there, alive!” “I promised to help her, and I will do just that, even if it means keeping you locked down like this for hours!” Trixie stopped, taking a deep breath. “I won’t let you stand up, the future is not only yours any more… Don’t let your foal grow up without a father.” she said in a hushed, cracked voice. He stared intently at her, his rising anger vanishing in a heartbeat. The way her head and eyes turned from him, he saw a faint glimmer of watery pearls forming in her eyes, only visible in the sun. She was right, and he knew it; with every fiber of his body, he knew it. He had refused to allow himself to be weak, and vulnerable. For once he needed to put his faith in someone else and trust her decision and knowledge.         He sighed, “Fine… but at least help me get up so I can rest next to her,” he said as he submitted. The bonds broke, leaving him free to move as he wished. The unicorn helped him get up, supporting him as they wobbled over to Moxie. He flinched slightly as he lay down behind his wife’s back, but what pain was left had vanished quickly. “We will leave as soon as you can move with ease; ‘til then I will help Arien with gathering what we need. Just try to relax just a little longer.” Trixie seemingly ordered him as she made her way over to the forest.         Arien emerged from the forest with the stretcher behind him. He stopped briefly as Trixie ventured over to him, before he pointed towards the forest again and set Trixie off in that direction. Then he resumed his path towards where Moxie lay. Under the watchful eye of Athaal, he carefully maneuvered her on the stretcher, and placed canteens of water on the top. Arien turned to Athaal, a surprised expression falling over him as he saw the shoulder. “Is that…?” He asked quickly. “Yes, she pulled it off her own shoulder so I could heal faster. Since the wound is so fresh, we can hopefully leave in a few hours.” Athaal responded with a hopeful tone in his voice.         Arien smiled ruefully at him. “We’ll leave when you’re ready, and not a moment before…” he said stoically. “Your brother will wait for us near the graveyard, he has enough water to wait for a long while.” Athaal opened his mouth to protest. He wanted to say that he could walk now if he wanted to, based solely upon the promise he had given to Moxie. Once more he found his spirit and heart being crushed by the grim reality, and no matter how much he wanted it otherwise, he couldn’t change it. He let his eyes wander over the sleeping body of his wife, a smile tugging upon his lips; no joy was left within him. It pained him to hear the short, shallow breaths from her, as much as it pained him to see the rose colored cheeks upon the pale fur. He stretched out a hoof and pushed away hair that had fallen over her muzzle, and as she frowned, there was a short stab within his chest. He was frustrated, almost to the brink of tears, for his inability to act on the best interest for both of them. He scooted a little closer to her, letting his muzzle barely touch her chest, and took a deep breath; no matter what happened, they would go through it together, life or death.