Here bạn are, impatient doves!


Aleksander put a hand to the wound on his leg. He felt where the bone protruded and pushed against it. The pain forced him to bite down on his lower lip to stifle a scream. He knew that he would never be able to get to his feet if the gash was unable to heal, much less make it out of the forest. He paused to catch his breath, preparing himself to try again, when he heard a shuffle behind him.
Looking over his shoulder, Aleksander watched another skeleton dog materialize from the shadows. He looked for his rod where it had fallen, just out of his reach, and the creature lunged.
This time, it was shot out of the air with a flaming projectile. It got back to its feet, the ngọn lửa, chữa cháy spreading across its oily bones, and took off running with a whimper, disappearing into the trees.
Perched on the ash-colored Friesian horse, in a red peacock and black boots, the dark haired young man resembled something of a valiant knight come to save his prince. The Brit distinguished his flaming hand and road up to the boy sitting on the ground.
“Bloody hell, Alek, you’ve gotten yourself into a real mess. And you’re injured!”
“You’re observation skills are impeccable,” he replied.
“You’ll live,” Nic decided from the snarky reply. A howl chẻ, phân chia, split the air from somewhere off in the distance. The two looked at one another, a silent message of urgency passing between them. Aleksander grabbed the offered hand and stifled a whimper as he was pulled onto the saddle behind the Brit. “What were bạn even doing out here?” he demanded as the horse broke into a canter. “You know not to be out here this late. I wouldn’t have ever found bạn if Valentine hadn’t gotten back to the house in time to warn me that bạn were in trouble!”
Nic’s answer was the feeling of something being slid around his neck. He reached a hand to the dog-tags, the ones that had belonged to his father, the last connection he had to either of his parents. He had Mất tích it in the pond at the bottom of the waterfall a week before after having leapt from the fall. It had been the only way to escape a raptor of dark fire, as bloodthirsty and wrong in creation as the skeleton wolves. Both species were creatures of the Forsaken Forest where dark magic seeped into the roots of the trees and flowed through the rivers.
The fire-caster put a hand over the bloody ones wrapped around his torso. “Hang on, little brother,” he told Aleksander, “I’ll get us home.”