A.N- This is the first time I've ever let a large group of people read anything I wrote, so criticism would be nice. Review please! Even if you thought it was horrible. I plan on making this into a chapter story, so leave me notice if you think this is a good/bad decision.

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Dragonlance, nor do I own any rights to it.

He walked into the clearing. He could tell something was different here…he could feel it. There was a chill in the air. He tensed inside his robes, drawing them closer to his frail body. The cough tore from his weak lungs into the chilled air, making far more noise than could possibly be good and he cursed his broken body again. Raist had always been a frail boy, though it had gotten worse after almost dying during the Test. Turning, he looked to find Caramon, his twin brother, who had all the physical capabilities Raistlin himself envied: the looks, the muscle, and the good health; therefore, Caramon always looked after Raist. But he was not here now.

Raistlin was confused…Hadn't he just been right beside him? Hadn't he been able to feel his brother's helping hand gently secured to his elbow? Where could he have possibly gone? And where were the others? They had all moved towards the clearing together, Raistlin's shattered health leaving Caramon to help him, both bringing up the rear of the small group. He had glanced down, ensuring his footsteps, careful not to trip on the soft, mossy undergrowth in this forsaken stretch of woods, and they were gone.

He forced his mind to think. There had to be some reasonable explanation. He was an intelligent man, possibly one of the most intelligent. He could figure this out…

That's when the chill returned…Only it was much closer, more intense than before. It caused his breath to rattle inside his small chest, his golden body struggling to stay upright. He clutched his staff tightly, using its sturdiness to steady him until he could control the coughing spasms that one again wracked him from the unnatural cold. He was fighting to breathe, hoping against hope he was wrong. Being a creature of magic as he was, he was quite attuned to things of this nature. If only he hadn't been lost in thought! As the spasm concluded, he looked from side to side while tucking the freshly red-stained cloth back into his robes. Ah…yes, there. Undead soldiers. More than a dozen. How could I not have sensed them? he raged. Am I blind? Furious with himself for being caught off guard, and furious with Caramon for his abrupt disappearance, he stood upright, his fury overpowering his health. The several warriors already visible were surrounding the clearing, careful not to enter it just yet. He knew he could not win if their intentions were malicious, but he knew he had to try. He refused to die without a fight, his body lost in some unknown woods to fade into oblivion. His snarl cut through the air. What a shameful way to die!

The skeletal beings began materializing in greater force, those that had lingered on the edge of the realm of the living crossing over fully until their shimmering bodies could be seen. And felt. The cold was all he could feel. His shivering making it difficult to think clearly. He knew he had to control himself. The slightest misspoken syllable of magic due to shivering could be his death. His sharp mind began to recall all the spells he thought might have an effect upon such creatures, and he vowed to die within his magic rather than at their ghostly hands. This thought, having a plan, however dire, gave him strength, and he straightened completely as a single undead stepped forward. His gait was easy. So easy in fact, he seemed to float, no, shimmer across the uneven ground, the trees behind him only mostly obscured like looking through blue-tinted glass. He did not move slow or fast, just gracefully, his form crossing the gap between him and the robed form with no effort; He barely seemed to move. Slowly, his movements became more sluggish, until he was stopped altogether. His head cocked in confusion, a movement familiar of his human life, not understanding why he had stopped. Gradually, the robed figure, whose head had slightly drooped at the approach of the otherworldly fiend, met his eye. The smirk there was reflected clearly on his lips, his murmured spell having drawn to successful conclusion. But the skeletal being would not be so easily stopped…

The skeleton was hardly to be stopped by such a simplistic spell. Several others joined him and placed their hands onto the invisible wall, pushing it into itself. The sudden strain on the wall echoed in Raistlin's face. His lips drew back into a tight line, a sheen of sweat glistening on his upper lip and brow. He knew he could not hold his wall much longer, and his attempt at delaying the inevitable seemed more foolish now than he originally intended. With a sudden surge of energy, he expanded the wall, forcing the nether creatures backwards. As the wall dissipated, another spell was already sliding off his numbing lips, his hand withdrawing a sprig of parsley from a pouch at his side. Tossing the parsley upward as his spell released, his other hand making a sweeping gesture towards three of the advancing undead.

The three were effortlessly tossed to the edge of the clearing, the force of the magic greater than anticipated. But he was too late. He had subdued only three; many more remained. He felt the chill intensify above his left shoulder just before the hand clutched him, its unnatural chill fighting his unnatural heat. He knew he was lost...

When he woke, he could feel the warmth of several blankets on him. His brain tried to make sense of the last few moments before he collapsed, certain of his death. He could think of no explanation, so he turned to his surroundings, hoping there might be something to brighten his understanding. He was in a small tent, the flap pulled closed. Looking to his left, he saw his brother lying beside him, similarly covered. His lips were bluish from the chill of the undead hands. The rhythm of his breathing was steady, though his breathes were not quite as deep as normal. He would survive, Raist knew. He heard rustling outside the tent, and the flap was pulled aside. Tanis slid in, his face grim. As he noticed Raistlin's open eyes, though, his frown turned into a sigh of relief.

"Welcome back."

"Much thanks, Tanis."

Though his voice was only ever a whisper, it carried through the tent as clearly as Tanis' had. Evidently, Tanis was not alone. Suddenly, a flash of blue, and Tasslehoff Burrfoot was at his side.

"Did it hurt, Raistlin? Were you scared? I thought they were so cool! They way they shimmer. They don't even seem to walk, really. Is that how they usually are? Wh…"

His voice slowly faded into silence as he caught the glare in Tanis' eyes. With a sigh that came from his small, red-shoed feet, Tas walked back outside the tent. Tanis half-ducked out with him and whispered something. Whatever the secret, it was obviously not a reprimand. Tas' face lit up and he ran off, half-skipping. Raist let his mind wander off to his last memories before waking here, trying to make some sense of it all. As he came back to the present and focused on the redbearded half-elf standing in front of him.

"Make it make sense, Tanis." He said, his golden complexion twisting in confusion. Tanis smiled, "It will." The tent flap fluttered lightly, as if a small breeze had shifted it, and Tas was standing beside Tanis again.

"I got him, Tanis. Just like you said. And I didn't tell anyone else." He reported, his childlike features straining to appear as serious as possible. Tanis smiled as the tent flap was slowly opened again. An old man in mouse-colored robes ducked inside with more agility than expected of someone his age. The man's smile shown from his face, and his misshapen hat barely missed brushing the top of the tent.

"Ah. Now I understand." Whispered Raistlin. Fizban's grin only widened.

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