Their journey continued up the mountain side, passing by a few more sparse monuments along the path. Several flags were tied to strewn out poles, marking the spot where a Pilgrim had died and their body had been recovered. The raging clouds above were in full swing, freezing wind solidifying the snow and ice in howling torrents. Midna shivered in her pelts, desperate for a distraction.
"I don't understand," The Imp said, returning to Bastrii's side. "If this place is so dangerous, why do light dwellers come up here?!"
"Many make this journey to see if the Graybeards will allow them entrance into the Monastery. The Graybeards practice the Way of the Voice – or the worship of the Gods through the Thu'um. They use their voice to speak to the heavens, often with jarring effect. I read about this, during a lengthy recovery in Whiterun.
"In the days of the Conquest of Morrowind and the founding of the first empire, the Great Nord Warchiefs were all Tongues. Or masters of the Voice. When they attacked a city, they needed no Siege Engines – they all simply met at the gate, and used their Thu'um to destroy the doors. These were the Men who forged the first empire; and they did it in blood. But, one of the mightiest of Tongues, Jurgen Windcaller I think his name was – converted to a pacifist creed that forbade the use of the voice for fighting.
"His philosophy prevailed, all due to his mastery of the Voice. He could silence those who spoke through a simple utterance, and he did so to seventeen disciples. The descendants of this school rest now, here, at the Throat of the World. Their wisdom is as long as their lives, and with twice the depth – endless pools of Knowledge and teachings of Old.
"If any one knows how to return you home, it would be the Graybeards." She said, giving Midna a reassuring nod. "You can thank the Pocket Guide to the Empire for that bit of history."
One of the many Emblems up the path took the Bosmer's attention. Initially, she resisted the urge to read them – but with how far she's come, she gave in and took a peak. Midna simply floated and blew warm air between her gloved fingers, trying to keep them warm.
"'Kyne called on Paarthurnax, who pitied Man; Together they taught Men to use the Voice. Then Dragon War raged, Dragon against Tongue.' Huh. I guess I was wrong. Kyne isn't an Elf, she – or he – must be some kind of Nordic God I haven't heard of."
"I knew you were wrong about that old dagger! That's it – on the way down, I'm reading each and every single one of these stones; Whether I can understand them or not, you're going to tell me what they say."
"You can't read?"
"Not your light dweller scribble, though I'm happy your spells are written in Ancient Runic. It must be a common language between uh… Hyrule, and Nirn. This world is called Nirn, right?"
She nodded, "We're at the half way point. This looks to be Emblem four of eight." She drew her travel hood inwards, trying to obscure her eyes from the falling flakes. "We'll camp on the sixth Emblem. It's going to become more dangerous from here on out – not to mention slow, as the snow grows ever thicker."
"Bastrii." Braehoof called, stepping up to meet them. "I don't think we're alone."
Midna immediately dropped her hands, shivering as flames lit her palms. "Braehoof, please tell me they're f-flammable. Whatever it is. I'll make them into a campfire."
Bastrii slipped the pack off of her back, not making the same mistake twice. Gingerly, she placed it in the back of the cart, much to Braehoof's annoyance. The Elf withdrew her bow, stretching her shoulders. "What's the problem?"
"Up wind of us. A… you call it a Saber Cat." He nodded, feeling his mind abuzz with new information. "And two other scents. Blood, and… something else. Though it's faint."
She knocked an arrow, crouching low. She was half tempted to unhitch the cart, that way her mount could bolt at the first sign of trouble. But frantic fleeing could lead to him tripping, and stumbling down a dozen steps before falling to his doom.
He could see the indecision within her, and he bobbed his head. "I will be fine. My antlers have strength yet. Spring is still months away."
"What does that mean? You plan on getting fat in Spring?" Midna said, floating onto her back with a smile. A mischievous grin forming.
"No. My Antlers fall in Spring, you… Bastrii, what's the word for that creature? The one that looks like an ugly horse? The rude one."
"Ass."
"You are an ass." He said with a smile, eyes perking up. "That is the word. Ass. You are an ass, floating two-leg."
Midna honestly didn't know what an Ass was, but she knew that Epona – Link's horse – was somewhat pretty for a light world creature. And to say there was an ugly, rude variant was definitely an insult.
"Better to be one than to smell like one." She retorted. The Elk glared.
"I smell as natural as the day my Mother brought me the Sun. You smell like a Skunk's den. Do you ever groom yourself?"
"Bastrii, when we run out of meat, we're eating him next."
The Elf groaned. Great. Now their arguments were considerably more vocal than before. Lovely. Exactly what she wanted out of a sentient, talking Elk – competition for the world's biggest smart ass trophy.
She crouched down, taking in the air of seriousness she liked to maintain when things were about to become dire. Words mean nothing – it's the intention. She skirted the edge of the rocks in the stirring blizzard, the wind obscuring the sound of her movements.
Midna dropped the argument, slipping in low. She hovered an inch above the ground, trying to mimic the Wood Elf in shape and scurry; Bastrii setting a fine example of a Bosmer's agile step.
The Elf rounded a rock face, the distant shape of a moving mound of white drawing their eyes up along the short cliff face. A heavy bulk seemed to be hunched over another white patch, shuffling in the deep snows above the rocky alcove.
A feeling settled in her gut. She knew it wasn't friendly; its angry shuffling and vicious movements drawing a spurt of crimson onto its hairy coat.
It was a troll. Known for their vitality, this one in particular was well adapted to the cool climate of the Throat of the World. He was hunched over something strong, and most definitely dead. It must have been their Saber Cat.
She hung close to the cliff side, drawing the string back. A stiff wind drew a soft bump to her arm; Midna's head crashing into her. The thump forced her arm to over correct the shot, going wide and to the creature's left.
Bastrii flicked her eyes to her companion. The Imp's gaze responding with a wide eyed stare that nearly spoke the word 'sorry' from its encumbrance. In the distance, the steel arrow pinged off of a rock, shattering to pieces. Her head spun around to spot the troll, but it simply wasn't there.
"… It must have been my imagination." She said, her mind aloof for answers. There's no way a shambling troll could maneuver out of her sight so quickly. Trolls were dumb brutes; as smart as a bag of hammers and damaging as such. Midna hovered a few feet ahead, looking up and around the cliff face.
"What did you see?" She asked, curious. "What were you shooting at?"
"Well, you would have seen if you didn't bump me."
"I wouldn't have bumped you if you didn't stop all of a sudden and fire faster than I can blink! You're even faster than Link with that thing!" She said, gesturing to the bow.
Bastrii looked along the peak, scanning for signs of movement. A few freckles of snow tumbled off the sheer rock to her right.
Her heart nearly skipped a beat, her eyes widening. she looked between the leaping troll and her distracted companion, thoughts racing for a reaction. Midna was just out of reach, and would never obey in time to dodge. Even if she called out the beast, she would be crushed before she could argue.
Her bow twitched upwards, firing a panic shot. Midna's gaze shifted to the direction, her breath catching in her throat as the troll plummeted down straight for her. Her first reaction was to reach for the magic within her Fused Shadow – the one she abandoned to the saddlebag long ago due to the cold.
The arrow sailed past the troll, the hurried shot missing. It embedded into the distant rock, all of this taking place in the course of mere seconds.
Out of options, she only had one choice – the troll less than several feet from murdering her companion.
"Fus!"
The shock wave knocked Midna out of the air, throwing her hood off as she landed in the snow half a dozen feet away. The troll collided with the ground, grunting in exertion as it looked between its two targets.
Tiny morsel, or large Elf.
It charged for Bastrii, roaring in ire over its failed ambush. Blood had soaked its maw from its previous Saber-Toothed prey, its hands and legs pulling its ape-like body through the deep snow with ease. Hollering, it leaped for Bastrii, the Bosmer bashing it with her bow. The punch landed right in its nose, making him flinch.
But it wasn't enough. Bastrii had only just begun to disengage before it lunged again, propelling itself with its mighty arms to collide with its new target. The Elf gasped, her bow snapping in half between her chest and the beast as it smothered her with its bulk.
He weighed at least eight hundred pounds, easy – and his massive heft crushed the girl's torso into the cushioned snow, compacting it beneath her. She heard several sickening cracks and pops, her arms useless from this angle. It roared into her face, Bastrii struggling for air.
Her acute vision began to grow dark when its hands darted around her head. It grabbed a hold of her skull, pulling her face towards its hungry maw. She pulled back, her senses failing her – the adrenaline not enough to escape those teeth as it grew closer. Her mind went hazy, the world turning silent.
This was it. Face eaten by a troll. Ribs probably shattered, she would be another red flag on the path up the world's tallest mountain. Her eyes slid shut, not enough fight in her to throw off her winning opponent.
And suddenly, the weight on her chest was gone. She gasped for life giving oxygen, her ears snapping back to the reality of the moment. She heard a growl and a yelp, struggling to make it to her feet as lights danced in her vision.
She leaned up to her elbows, looking on to the battle before her. Braehoof had freed himself of the wagon – his massive antlers impaled on the chest of the troll as he rammed it into the nearby rock face. The troll – struggling for balance – wasn't going down so easily. Midna floated nearby, her eyes closed shut as flames spiraled around her clenched fists.
The Troll rammed a sickening right hook into the Elk's jaw, knocking him to the floor with a crack. The sound of crushed snow met Bastrii's ears, a small jolt of physical pain echoing in her body from the blow.
Midna's eyes snapped open, her hair standing on end with the fizzling magic. Her very essence seemed to burn with a fiery heat, emanating off of her in waves. She drew her hands together, growling through her angry breath.
"Ignis… rapti sunt!" She yelled, a literal wave of fire coupled with a powerful orb of magma slammed into the creature's exposed face, melting it off in an instant. A trail of flames burst through the snow, leading up to the dead troll's corpse. A pyre funeral followed the ordeal, the creature's body slumping onto its back.
Midna fell into the snow with a groan. The powdery white melting around her smoldering body. After a few seconds, her hand raised up – thumb held high. The universal sign of, "I'm okay" sent to her friends. Well, any of the conscious ones, at least.
"I'm not cold anymore." She said, rolling around in the refreshing chilly blanket.
Bastrii struggled to her feet, staggering toward the Elk's side. She took in his battered form – his crushed jaw, undoubtedly broken. A death sentence for most without proper care. Collapsing by his head, she adapted a hands-on approach.
Her digits wrapped around his jaw, feeling the shattered bone beneath it. The Bosmer's heart immediately went out to her friend, eyes knitting with worry. She ran a hand along his neck, scooting forward to lay the Elk's head in her lap.
His muzzle faced her, as she lifted her hands above his broken jaw.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
"Take the breath of earth into your body. Sanitatem Manibus."
Her voice came as a quiet whisper, channeling the archaic power through her palms. Golden beads flowed freely from her hand, and into the unconscious Cervine. Her eyes sliding shut, she felt her essence flow into Braehoof; his fractured bone cracking in several spots, the blood pooling from his maw coming to an abrupt halt. The bones realigned and set, mending together.
She struggled for air, first came the fatigue – then the burning. Her willpower fighting against the screaming fibers of her body to stop, to let the magic go. Her own ribs bursting with pain, as if the simple thought of magic made them shatter to pieces within her.
She tasted blood, the crimson substance leaking from her nose as his jaw clicked back into place, fully healed.
Her concentration slipped, the spell ending. Vertigo took her, and she coughed up a thick clot to her side. It soaked into the white powder, her nose leaking the crimson substance down her cheeks. It wasn't that healing caused a nose bleed, rather her breathing was the issue.
Midna floated to her side, holding two snow balls in her bare hands.
"You heal Braehoof, but you don't heal my burns? Wow, thanks." She said, in pain. "I killed the thing. Don't I get a little affection?"
She hovered down to Bastrii, who didn't move. Looking her over.
"By Din's Fire, you look as if you've seen a ghost."
Bastrii toppled into the powdery cold.
"I guess that means we're camping early tonight, huh?"
She dropped a half melted snowball on Bastrii's face. No response.
"I'll take that as a yes. Oh, and looks like I'm the only one awake to do it. Thanks Bastrii! Big help tonight, wonderful. Couldn't have set up camp without you." Midna groaned, floating down the path to retrieve their belongings.
Braehoof's eyes soon fluttered open, before darting across the clearing in panic. He raised his head, his gaze settling on the fallen corpse of the troll. The embers clung to its fur, the smell of burnt flesh scorching his nostrils. Snorting, he slowly stood to his feet – searching desperately for his family.
"Bastrii? Bastrii?!" He called, spinning around on his legs. Only the dim light of the sun and the call of the wind greeted his senses; night fast approaching. Panic began to settle inside of him, and he called again.
"Bastrii, where are you!" He shouted, his voice cracking into a familiar bugle. Timidly, a hand reached up from the snow to his right, and he immediately darted for it.
Hidden in a small mound, on crushed ice, rested the shaking form of the Elf. He immediately pressed his head in past the chilly prison, nuzzling her cheek.
Her arm fell limp. No further response.
He maneuvered in close, drawing his body against hers. Using his antlers, he nudged the broken Elf onto his back. She didn't move – only continued to shiver intensely in the bitter cold.
He turned his nose to the wind, sniffing for any signs of life. Where did Midna go? Did she find the cart? Hopefully it didn't roll too far when he tore the straps from himself.
Smoke. The scent of fire came to him from deeper into the pass, and he stampeded forward. Eager to find shelter for his small herd.
Deeper along the small valley, an alcove had formed in a crevice. Bones were strewn about at its entrance, and smelled strongly of troll. But flame broiled within, and he approached the entrance cautiously.
Midna threw a fresh log into the fire, no more than three as Bastrii had done the night before. Her hands sizzled and burned, but she paid little mind to it as she cast another wave of flames to the still-catching logs. The cave was barren of all else; save for a few skulls that the Imp had cleared.
Braehoof brought the injured Elf inside, noticing the familiar stone hat upon Midna's head yet again. He winced, remembering that he dropped the saddlebags well back along the edge of the pass, along with the treasured helm.
"Took you long enough." She glared, kicking her legs up before her. Floating an inch off the ground with her arms crossed. "You're lucky the wagon only rolled down a dozen steps before toppling. If you would have lost my Fused Shadow, you would honestly be joining that Troll past the veil of dusk."
He paid her no mind, instead he brought Bastrii's unconscious form to the floor with a soft shove. He nuzzled at her cheek, keeping her by the warm fire side as the wind howled beyond the rock face.
He stood up, turning back towards the path.
"Hey! Where are you going, Antler Boy! I wasn't done scolding you!" She shouted, gritting her teeth. No one walks away from her anger unscathed!
His ears flicked, but he didn't listen. He charged forward into the snow and ice, heading down along the steps – around the corner, and out of sight through the hazy blizzard.
Midna picked up another snowball between her hands, letting it treat her scorched skin.
"Great. Now he ran off. Shows how much he cared. I guess it's just you and me again, huh, sleepy head?" She sighed. The Imp looked over Bastrii, who seemed mostly fine – except for her shallow breathing.
But there was no blood on her body, if she was injured. Excluding a bit on her lip and from her nose, of course. There was honestly nothing she could do to help. She didn't know any healing magic – and even if she did, she doubt she could cast it. Twili and light magic don't go well together. She's more suited for destroying than for creating. A sad note she dwelled on more often than she liked.
Several minutes passed; Her eyes fighting between the unconscious Bosmer, and the glowing flame. That's when she realized – what happened to the Elf's bow?
"Don't tell me you lost it." She said, to no one in particular. "I thought you were my guide – my escort. I can't do all of the fighting! My shadow catalyst isn't even strong enough to lift you right now, much less swing a sword."
Of course, Bastrii said nothing. She only slept. And slept, and slept…
Midna's stomach growled. It must be well past noon now, and she was definitely craving something to snack on. She thought about floating down the mountain to retrieve one of the bags – but her muscles burned fiercely at the thought. Every fiber of her being fought against her movements, demanding rest. It wasn't like she'd find them, anyway – some toppled down the sheer side of the slope, far out of reach for her at the moment.
"Stupid light world magic… shadow spells are painless to cast. You all could really learn something from the Twili, instead of killing yourselves for fancy pyrotechnics."
Another hour had passed since Braehoof left, and by now, Midna had given up on him. He probably abandoned them. He most likely felt sick of being used as mule for luggage, and ran off to the wilds. Who could blame him? It wasn't like they were paying him for his help, or offering him anything more than a bit of food and comfort.
Midna sighed. One day up, or one day down. Better decide which is more important – recovering a finding more supplies, or reaching the Graybeards.
She somehow felt that three days to scale one of this world's tallest mountains was a bit… short. Then again, not all of the world could have been explored by now – could it? Maybe there were taller mountains on another coast, and no one bothered to measure. And their pace was rather intense – Bastrii didn't stop walking until dusk, besides maybe a few short rest stops here and there.
But – this mountain wasn't exceedingly wide. It was a lone peak, but a tall one at that. Maybe this 'High Hrothgar' place wasn't even at the very top? It could definitely be halfway there, considering there was a dedicated road reaching to it.
Midna's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of crunching snow. Her eyes flicked to the path, spotting a white-covered Braehoof. He seemed to be struggling, pulling the cart with his teeth. It was missing a wheel.
"Braehoof?!" She called, her exhaustion forgotten for the moment as she floated out to meet him. He grunted, tugging at the leather straps. The front catching on the dense powder, making it a struggle to move.
Midna's Shadow-Arm reached forward, gritting her teeth and lifting the dragging side up. The Elk grunted in thanks, quickly shuffling into the chilly grotto. A small fire could only do so much to keep them warm.
They both dropped the damaged wagon near the back end of the cave, Midna looking over the supplies with a serious eye. Her other iris obscured by her stone helm.
"It looks like you didn't just bring the cart – you found everything. Every log, every pack – you… you did good work, Braehoof." She said, reaching up to pet him. It was an awkward touch, but one he graciously accepted.
"She is really hurt. I can feel it – I need your help fixing her." The Elk said, nipping the Elf's bag from the supplies. He set it down with a soft thump, the wooden supports on the back broken and the exterior covered in snow and dirt. "Bastrii was given a few potions from the healer back at… Arrowflash Pass. She needs the red one, but… I can't tell which is which."
He fumbled with the bag's flap throughout his orders, bumbling with the words occasionally – but making few mistakes otherwise. Eventually, he gave up, unable to open the simple bag with just his teeth. Midna took the lead from there, easily undoing the strap as she searched deep inside.
Wrapped up in tight bundles, she withdrew three potions. A green, a blue, and a red – small, but weighty. She uncorked the red one, and she was about to force it down Bastrii's throat – when Braehoof stopped her.
"Check her mouth first. There's blood." He nuzzled at his rider's cheek, dried crimson the only color present.
"And what am I going to do about the blood? Turn her over and make her spit it out? Slap her awake and tell her to swallow?"
"Water. Rinse it out with water." He dug into his own saddlebags with his snout, withdrawing the large, fur-wrapped canteen. He held it by a strap, Midna grabbing the large cup-lid and filling it. Her hand gently lowered Bastrii's sharp jaw, exposing the bloody teeth and red tongue.
Braehoof used his chin to raise her head up, Midna splashing the water into the sanguine orifice. Of course, the sloppy gesture made a mess, spilling across her once clean jerkin. But it was considerably less gory than before, and she comfortably fed her the potion.
"I don't get it. Why clean her mouth out? Why not just swallow the blood?"
Braehoof had to think. The answer came to him from his companion's knowledge of healing, after several seconds. "If she swallows too much blood, she could get sick and throw up. We have to be careful not to waste this potion, they're very rare."
Midna frowned, rolling her eyes. "She's just tired after healing you, not me. I don't see why we should waste it now. I should be the one taking it, considering how my hands are still, you know, burnt."
Braehoof shook his head. "She can't breathe well. It hurts." He pressed his nose to her chest, where the troll had pinned her down. Bastrii's body tensed from the pain, but otherwise, she didn't move.
Midna grabbed at the skirt of the long gambeson, dragging it upwards. It couldn't be that bad, could it? She looked fine, maybe a little pale. It's not like her chest was caved in!
She stopped at the breast, grimacing from the sight. Bastrii's entire torso was covered in splotchy red bruising – which would have fine, if four misshapen lumps didn't line either side of her chest. The bones clearly broken to varying degrees.
It explained why her breathing was so frail. One of her ribs had probably slipped and penetrated a lung, leaving her coughing up her life giving fluid.
She took the potion again, tipping it back into the Elf's maw. Hoping most of it was going down the right pipe, of course – she wasn't an expert. When Braehoof didn't complain about her amateur work, she assumed she did a good job. Midna lowered the green tunic, the chain mail, and the gambeson back down – unwilling to strip her with this much damage.
With nothing else to do, she sat on her knees and watched. And waited. And waited…
Braehoof had the right idea to withdraw the bedroll for Bastrii, gently moving her with his head to rest on it. The Elf didn't complain in her sleep – only laid there. And slept. And slept…
Midna was getting bored of the waiting already. It was just like all of those times Link was injured. How he would complain for a rest, clutching at a new wound that slipped past his chain mail. He demanded time for it to heal, for his wounds to mend naturally – and she didn't want to burn the time.
She would tell him to keep moving. Get up, and keep working. No breaks. No rest. Fight or die. And her words left him dying more often than not.
She cupped her head into her hands, hiding her exposed eye. The guilt wracked her body – if she had given him a little more time to recover after their run in with that giant eel, maybe he would have been able to fight off Zant back at the Lanayru Spring.
The Lanayru Spring… that's where it happened. That's when Zant used his foul magic to banish her not just from the Twilight, but from Hyrule itself.
How?
Before her mind could stir further inklings from the past, Bastrii twitched. Braehoof immediately pressed his nose to her shoulder, tilting her head to her side. She coughed and sputtered, thick, crimson clots coating the ground. Her body wracking with the pain, even in her unconscious state.
When the moment was over, Braehoof let her rest on the bedroll once again. He sat desperately close to her side, sharing his heat with her. He curled up around her, resting his head against hers in the light crackling of the fire.
Midna reached forward, gently raising Bastrii's armor up off of her chest again. Inspecting the damage once more, to see if the potion had did anything to benefit her.
The bruises had faded, the bones having mostly returned to their proper spots along her chest. It must have been over an hour since she took the potion, though Midna hoped it was enough to cure her.
She hefted the red bottle. It was completely empty, save several drops along the bottom. Most of the brew was in Bastrii – the last few drops could suffice as something to numb her own pain.
She filled the lid of the canteen with another cup, pouring it into the bottle. The Imp corked it, shaking hard for a moment.
Gently, she poured the water on her hands. Sighing as the cool liquid ran over her burns, the pain numbing instantly.
"That's better..." She said to herself, saving half of the bottle for another dose. Setting it down on the floor, she looked over the green and blue mixtures.
"What are these for?" She said, swishing the concoctions around in their containers. She uncorked the blue one, giving it a sniff. It forced a grimace from the Imp, the potent stench quickly tucked away behind the lid once more.
"The green potion is for…" He thought about it, looking for the words. "The green is for running, and fighting. It makes you strong again. The blue… It's for magic. It helps after casting magic."
He found the concept hard to explain. He was still learning the language, and finding it exceedingly difficult. Why couldn't they just… communicate through a few sounds? Like squeals, barks, or mewls – as Elks do? Or, as he was fond of – bugling.
Midna swished the blue potion around, wondering. "So this will make me feel better after using magic, huh?"
"Yes. It's… uncommon." He nodded. "Use it sparingly. Bastrii will need it, too. Healing magic hurts."
Midna took a swig of the blue poultice, grimacing at the sharp flavor. It tingled on the way down, like tiny spiders were dancing in her throat. But her body seemed to ease as a result.
She stored the bottle away, and waited. And waited… and waited. While Bastrii slept. Slept slept slept… Midna added another log to the fire, Braehoof occasionally tilting Bastrii to her side so she could cough up blood. Each time, less came out, and soon, her throat was clear, and her breathing was normal.
Eventually, the small Elf slowly started to come to. Her eyes fluttered open, her gaze meeting the intelligent Elk's sight.
He smiled, and gave her an affectionate nuzzle. "Good evening, Bastrii." He said, Midna stirring from her gentle doze nearby.
The Elf's hand slowly reached out, petting Braehoof on the head. He chirped to the touch, a new sound she hadn't heard before. He leaned in, enjoying the moment before Midna could ruin it.
"You're finally awake!" She shouted, floating over to her side. "Have fun with that giant monkey back there?"
The Elf leaned forward, gingerly hugging her own chest. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse.
"Water, please." She said, almost in a whisper. Midna obliged, withdrawing the large canteen from earlier. A cup was soon laced between her fingers, the damaged woman nursing her drink.
"What happened?"
"Well, you were pinned by that giant monkey, so I blasted him with fire. My first few spells barely seemed to phase him, and its wounds began to regenerate faster than I could torch him. That's when Braehoof charged up the path, and knocked him off of you. It gave me just enough time to just… make up a spell, on the fly. Since it wasn't a proper incantation, it really burnt me up." She showed her hands, forcing a grimace from Bastrii.
The Elk adjusted his pose, so that Bastrii could lean against him fully. He smiled, resting his head on her lap.
The warm embrace of her mount, coupled with the fire burning steadily before her, drove away the last of her shivers. Her free hand began to stroke and massage his neck, kneading away all of the work he's done for her.
"How did you get the cart in here?"
"Braehoof did it all. He went out and gathered everything, I simply reclaimed my Helm and pieced together a fire. Speaking of fire…"
Midna offered her hands. "Will you heal me? I didn't have a health potion, like you."
Bastrii set the cup down, raising her limp arms. Her eyes slid shut. Breathe in, breathe out…
"Sanitatem Manibus." She whispered, a few flickering beads of gold rushing from her, to her companion. Midna watched the burns recede and heal over before her very eyes, Bastrii slumping against Braehoof's neck.
The Imp frowned, but relented. Her hands still stung, and several splotches of skin were discolored. But the pain had stopped. In its place was a dull throbbing.
Braehoof worriedly pressed his nose against Bastrii's chest, doing his best to avoid clipping her with his antlers. She began to drift off again, the Elk speaking through the connection of their soul.
"Please don't leave me again." He pleaded to her mind, before she could fall back into the void.
"I won't."
"Promise?" He asked, her inner voice distant.
"Promise…"
Hrrrrgh... Midna, I'm trying to sneak around. But your head is dummy thicc, and the clap of your skull against my shoulder keeps making me miss my shots. Funnily enough, when I did this section of the game, I had Inigo (a mod companion) with me. And when I went to shoot the troll, he bumped into me and I missed.
Notes: Readjusting the positions of the Emblems (monuments), and I'm shuffling the mountain around to be longer. Next section of the journey will be faster, for sure - I'll have them leave early and make up for the lost time.
Now if only I don't have to work another double shift! It's driving me to stress eat, and it's slowing down my progress. Bleh! I'm going to be adding elements soon to cut out back tracking, it's just going to take time to reach this point. Additionally, I went over this a bit more than usual - but I know for a fact I still made plenty of mistakes, as I do with all chapters. Please point out any you see in the comments, it would help a bunch! Thanks!