The darkest green hue -
to tarnish its fall would be
sacrileguous crime.

Proud birds vanity
hides shadows behind grace
- a beautyful lie.

The hand to reach out
is slapped away quickly.
No one will touch him.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

I cling onto Ebrellin-i as soon as he comes to save me. It was a gamble, I admit - I didn't know if he would. But now I have him.

Except, he's still a dragon now, and he's not going to like what I'm doing.

I manage to climb on top of his head - I'm small, and he's quite big, as a dragon. There's plenty to climb onto. From there, I dig in. He can't shake me off. I've got excellent grip.

"If you go, I go with you." It's a simple statement of fact, and something that's enough to make me dizzy with fear. I don't want to die in Nul. I don't want to be there ever again. Something tells me that this time it wouldn't be like when I could walk about unharmed, unseen - this time, it really would hurt me. I'd die the same death as Ebrellin-i if I was lucky - the Jherent Nul sounds as if he has all sorts of awful uses for people he's not proven to be useless to him yet.

* * *
Ebrelle
* * *

Mother grabs me by the hair and twists her hand in that special way that she likes to use to get my attention. I manage a hazy blink, but I really can't concentrate on her all that much. There's something looming over me, something that's dark and quiet and yet hates me so much. It'll eat me, though. I've already been enough trouble for it that it'd be more satisfied with killing me than using me.

I never knew Nul hated me so - I assumed that his actions towards me were typical of his treatment of anyone put in the position I was in. But I'm not that surprised. I can't put the effort into it to be surprised. I'm dying, after all - so whatever Mother is trying to tell me can't be all that important.

"Think you'll escape like Eistinn, will you?" Her voice hitches up at the last note, and I wonder if he was her favorite. Then I tell myself: of course he was her favorite. He's dead.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

After the first few lunges, Faun apparently tires of the sport and proceeds to lash Ebrellin-i with the chains he's been cuffed to. During the first few strikes, I don't even realize how much damage the Peacock King is taking from the blows. All I can think about is how much a parody Faun is of Ebrellin-i right now - taking a lash to him, just like the monarch had me do to Faun.

It's then that it strikes me as so very wrong - and it's then that Faun catches my eye for just a moment. He goes on lashing the King, though, and I wonder if I even imagined it.

The King, for all his power, can't rise from his kneeling position, and can do very little to block Faun's assault. The lunges from before left their cuts and scratches on the King, but the chain bites harder than Faun's claws.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

My heart's doing that thing where it thuds inside my throat, which tempos nicely with the burning in my lungs. I'm just lucky that Ebrellin-i is so tall and I'm so tiny - it means I can get through the tangled, dense woods more easily. The chains trailing from the manacles on his ankles and wrists and neck are also making things a bit difficult for him. I also don't have ten feet of hair to drag behind me. His mane may be a tiny bit lighter after I snipped a bit of it off not long ago, but still--

--Oh shit, is that why he's chasing me down?

Ebrellin-i is following me. Faun's voice is strange to hear in my head, but not completely unexpected. He sounds so calm... as if he expected all of this. You are something he also desires, but I am sure he does not wish to attack you.

* * *
Gerald
* * *

We don't land in front of the forest. We crash into it in an upwards shower of snapping branches. I'm on the ground by the time I register the ghost-impressions of hundreds of leaves slapping against my face. I'm scratched up, with a pretty good cut on one cheek. Lyric seems untouched - the King's face and arms are scratched. They're both breathing, thank the winds.

Patrick's still sitting straight up, holding the reins. He's oddly quiet, and when I wonder why, I realize that the bird is dead.

I don't know quite what to say or do, because he seems sad about it. I am, too - she was a nice bird, and I liked her. Patrick, though, is broken up. And maybe this is hard on him. Maybe he hasn't gotten attached to a lot of things before. But there's no time to talk about it - the commotion coming from not too far away signals that our assailants haven't given up the chase.

* * *
Lyric
* * *

I can't tell whose panic that is, leaping up in my chest. Is it mine, or Ebrellin-i's? Whose despair is plunging down through me? Whose tears are these? In the moment after I hear Edward's words, I can't tell. It's so hard to recover - it's so hard to even believe. My grip on Ebrellin-i's hand is the thing that pulls me out of it - he's clutching at me, another spasm.

I'm here. It's all I can say to comfort him.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no-- Ebrellin-i doesn't hear me. There's only despair in his head, and agony all through his heart. I was protecting him all this time, that can't be true--

I see a flash of Ebrelle hunching himself over something, cradling it, protecting it. Was that the Poet King? Was he spending all of his remaining energy protecting his brother instead of fighting off Nul?

No, no, no, no, no, no, no--