Red Glass

21.

Faris is awoken by air splashed out of his lungs by blistering cold water, slapping the nerves like a thousand needles all piercing the skin at once.

"Wakey wakey priddy boy." A scruffy accent spits out.

Fur boots step across grey stone flooring towards a second bucket, lifted and thrown into the opposite cell. The wooden bucket is dropped as the footsteps slowly tap across the darkroom. Murky walls of moss and stone fall into a floor of the same palate. From the neighbouring cell, a humming stale stench of urine and excrement poison the frozen air. Rusted orange peeks between jagged flakes of black-painted iron bars. Faris watches dispirited as the chuckling and footsteps fade upwards through creaking stairs into the howling wind.

"God." Faris gasps in despair.

Faris suddenly begins to panic, searching for his pocketwatch when his eyes widen in realization. In the cell opposite, wearing nothing but her soaked red sleeping dress cowers Miya. Her gloss wet face can be seen behind her folded arms and legs, sniffling.

"I... I'm so sorry." Faris scrapes out with guilt.

"It's ok, it's not your fault. At least we are here together." the muffled voice breaks from cover.

"I should not have let you follow me."

"It's okay, I wanted to follow you."

"Why?"

"Because with you.." Miya's eyes poke between her arms. "..I feel safe."

Faris looks down in shame, covering his upper face with his hand.

"Hey, I said it's okay, it's okay. I chose to follow you." Miya comforts.

"I should have just helped you to get home, at least then... It does not matter, we're here now."

He looks at her as she looks to him for answers. Miya's drenched auburn hair covers her shoulders where Faris's coat once hung. Faris notices her purple lips are dry.

"You have not eaten nor drank a thing since we met." Faris narrates with concern.

Miya nervously shakes her head before gently asking. "Is your friend, Axil, is he here?"

Faris looks down and whispers. "I don't know, but I hope not. Wherever he is, I just pray he's okay."

-

Wolves guard the cave of the cursed with vigilance and undying loyalty. Drums and voices echo through the entrance, while ravens that rule the skies caw. Agnaar, breathing deeply, beats a small duff drum in hypnotic rhythm. Fenrir lightly rocks back and forth with his eyes closed, meditating.

Bren chants mounted on her shield, ice blue eyes dilated, smeared in blood. Her wand's edge slices through flesh cut into small pieces that are added into a horn from the mutilated corpse of a traveller. Stirring the concoction with henbane seeds and white lead she whispers more chants before passing the potion to Fenrir with both hands. Fenrir takes the horn, nodding in gratitude and drinks the horn empty as the beat stops.

Agnaar stands, looking at Brenn with concern. Taking the back of her head, she leans in on his chest.

"I see not death, nor destiny." Brenn whispers.

"Let it go."

"I can't, I've sacrificed too much."

"How many days will you pay? Olkan is dead, and you... You sacrificed the memory of our last battle with him!"

Benn's wide eyes lower. "Why do the gods betray me?"

"Maybe visions do not come from the gods." Agnaar bitterly replies.

"What do you believe?"

"We are gods."

Looking up, she reminds her lover that the realms could not separate them. Agnaar kisses her painted forehead with a smile of mild respite, looking at her wounds before embracing her again to hide his face. Fenrir looks to say her craft is esoteric but they had faith in her, and that, was enough.

-

Lying in wait, the thick white fur and grey mane contrast against slanted blue eyes. Nobody knows how these beautiful creatures came to be, but they had been around barely two hundred years.
It is assumed a circus was once lost in the frozen north, the acts were slaughtered brutally by animals that had managed to break free. Included amongst the creatures was a lion, which managed to mate with a very ancient species of cat thought extinct, even before the giants of long ago. This ultra rare specimen is the descendent of a forbidden allegiance.

Tusk of such a creature promises multiple times weight in gold and a pelt, worth more than an entirely master crafted full suit of armour. To an alchemist, this was worth more in parts than actual dragon bones. It was no wonder the poachers risked capturing such a dangerous prize.
Unlike the poachers, Nyla did not see a wealth of material and resources, she saw a prisoner like herself.

Dropping a severed leg into the cage, the sabre-lion crawls across. Exhibiting all its teeth and tusk, it eats like days have rolled endlessly in hunger. Crouching, she whispers till the ice blue eyes turn black.
Opening the cage with the key, she rides out of the tomb with food, water and an armour once worn by the boss.