Penryn smirked, a strange expression on her, but not unappealing. Not that he should have noticed.
“I took off my cloak,” she held out a piece of the red fabric. Had she always been made to wear such a thing? “And it smothered out quickly enough. I got to choose a treat of my own that day when the other sages heard about what happened.” Her eyes turned almost wistful. “I chose to be outside at night so I could see the stars. And a cake all to myself.”
Such simple things, but ones that evidently had to be considered a reward rather than an everyday expectation.
But he did not need to tell her that. “Two treats then,” Grimult observed, watching her smirk grow to a full smile.
“It was a very old book I had saved,” she explained gravely.
He could not imagine such objects. There were books within his clan, often passed between households as collections were often few and it seemed selfish to hoard them. Some were even passed down through as many as three generations, but few beyond that. Did some magic hold them so they did not decay, or were there merely dedicated sages that saw to their care and upkeep?
“Were you not made to study the stars?” Grimult asked, thinking of his many nights spent sorting out constellations, each assignment dedicated so an initiate would always be able to orient themselves appropriately, even if they only had the night sky to do so.
“I was,” Penryn confirmed, gripping her cloak a bit tighter as if remembering the cold of such evenings. “But that was later, so it was quite the novelty at the time.”
He almost said how much he should like her to see his family’s dwelling, to know if everything was as equally striking to her in its normalcy. But that would be foolish, and only pain the both of them with all that could not be, so he kept his mouth shut and kept moving forward.
He had earned a smile from her, and that was his true aim, not uncovering more of her secrets.
“Do you think,” Penryn began, and he realised he had fallen out of step with her at his sudden increase in pace. He turned his head, already slowing to rectify his error, when a sound caught his attention, a rustle in the brush.
Whatever Penryn had meant to ask was lost in a sudden flurry of fur, skin, and cloth.
A blink, a single breath, was all he could afford before his hand went to his weapon, eyes narrowed as he assessed his foe in precious seconds of inaction. A thick pelt on a massive animal took up much of his vision, undoubtedly some form of beast, snarling and huge as it pinned Penryn’s form to the ground, its face obscured from view.
And a rider upon its back, hissing something in a language Grimult could not understand.
The sword flew from his hand almost unbidden. The rider might be the one urging the beast onward, but there was no pretending that the creature was the one endangering his Lightkeep most.
The beast howled as the short sword found purchase in its rear flank, and it reared in response. The rider did not falter and he managed to keep his seat, although his attention turned from the prey beneath to the new threat to his mount.
Their eyes met, if only briefly. He had expected the rider to appear almost as an animal himself, although why Grimult could not say. Hardened with fury, they appeared of equal intelligence to Grimult’s own people.
The vast difference being the lack of wings upon his back.
The rider forced the beast to turn about, the creature protesting until the rider reached down and pulled Grimult’s sword free, throwing it down with a lip curled in disgust as blood seeped freely from the wound.
Training warred with a desire to focus on Penryn, to see to her wellbeing and give any assistance that was required.
But instinct forced his attention to the battle itself, the panic curdling with grim determination as he settled himself more firmly on his feet, his hand going to his long handled knife tucked neatly at his side.
He needed to move, could not risk the battle itself happening over Penryn’s prone body. He did not know if she was conscious, and he could not trust that she could move to protect herself adequately if beast or rider should fall.
Grimult stood his ground, watching as the rider moved to close the opening between them. The advantage was his, for the moment. The mount might be injured, its great maw growling and angered as it favoured its rear leg at the approach. Every muscle was tensed, his wings braced and open. His pulse was a wild staccato, but his breath was calm and sure.
He had trained for this, and a part of him that had been crumbling with doubt settled finally into place.
Not everything was for show, a waste of time and energy, years spent in dormitories and endless instruction rather than with families.
His hand was steady and his vault was clean as he took to the air as the beast burst into a lunge. It was a stumbling effort, the creature buckling as Grimult landed briefly on its back, his arms coming about the rider and yanking backward.
Gripping tightly with both arms, Grimult took flight, elevating them both.
How was he so heavy? They should have been evenly matched given their relative sizes, but every bit of him seemed encased in an extra, hidden layer of musculature that made Grimult’s assault slower and more difficult to maintain.
But Grimult had taken down Hammil, and he knew none stronger than him. One only had to be quick.
The weight of him was a burden, Grimult’s wings moving with much greater force than usually required to keep them moving upward.
The rider struggled, his own hand filled with a weapon so
