Disclaimer: I own nothing of Strange Magic. All belongs to George Lucas and the affiliated parties.

I only claim the storyline and OCs.

Chapter 20

Sunny took a deep breath to calm his nerves. As comforting as it was to watch Dawn playing with his nieces and nephews in the family room, admiring her expressions and the song of her voice as she participated in their games, the feeling of unease would not leave him. He knew the king had told him to be ready, to be prepared, because word would come if it came to it. So, he knew that there was no reason for him to be so on edge thinking that they might have to make a run for the hills any second. But his anxiety said otherwise.

Dawn giggled and gave a scream of mock fright, jumping into a hover before twitching and holding her side. "OH – you got me!" she crooned before letting herself fall with a quick flutter of her wings. She laid on her stomach with her wings straight in the air as the kids piled on top of her, grinning wide and giving a poor impression of being arrowed.

Sunny smiled at the sight, Dawn's giggles doing him wonders.

"I bet your kids'll have wings."
He jolted in place and whipped to see Sweet smirking at him. "Oh, shuttup!" He elbowed his older brother, but felt the flush creeping up his face.
"Just sayin! Gonna be first gen winged Solas buzzing around here soon," he snarked.
Sunny shook his head as he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "I guess that's only fitting, huh," he said with a smile.
Sweet chuckled at that. "Right, with our dragonflies being a staple for four generations." He mimicked Sunny's stance. "Only a matter of time."

Sunny's smile faded as the whole of the situation started to drift in on his mind. He watched intently as Dawn kicked her feet and squealed, the children chittering and crawling all over her. His eyes drifted to his parents and other siblings, chatting nonchalantly or watching with content. "Why can't everyone get along this well."

Sweet sighed next to him and he remained rooted to the wall even when his older brother looped an arm over his shoulders. "Question for the ages, brother."

He said nothing to the comment as he continued watching, a feeling of vertigo inching in on him as his mind tried to balance the joyful sight in front of him with the sad reality outside their door.

Both he and Sweet jumped when a knock sounded. It was a distinct heavy metal thump against the wood. He and Sweet shared a glance before he headed to the door and pulled it open hesitantly. He recognized Vincent, one of the castle guards.

His stomach sank.

The feeling must have transferred to his face because Vincent's already sober expression hardened, and he nodded. "Be ready. We're mobilizing."

Sunny nodded, but kept his lips tight, unwilling to trust himself with words.
"Signal will be single longflow then three clicks on the horn."

Sunny nodded again. "Understood," he managed.

He shut the door as Vincent turned to go. The silence in the room was deafening. His eyes stung as anger and frustration welled. "Get everything prepped," he said, his voice channeling far more confidence than he felt. Only a few more moments of quiet reigned before the sounds of movement filled the air. Sweet squeezed his shoulder and no sooner did the pressure leave did he feel different hands floating over him.

Dawn burrowed her face into his neck as she wrapped her arms around him from behind. He raised his hands and squeezed her forearms, turning to nuzzle her back. "We'll be okay," he whispered.

Dawn said nothing. But he felt her limbs tremble lightly.

"Everything will be okay."

xXx

The bustle of the castle set Marianne's nerves on edge. Goblins tromped around moving supplies, others trying to organize areas for groups to stay in, and others running weaponry or tools. The wood of the Dark Forest castle did not allow for the vast echoing like the rock walls of her own, but somehow being more able to hear the movement in the carved-out tunnels and walkways within the massive trunk was even more eerie. She shook herself as she continued her trek.

She appreciated the goblin's willingness to follow her father's orders. And she trusted her father to know what he was doing. But a glaring issue still stood out to her. And now that she had let her emotions run their course and had a good cry, her mind was clearer to focus on it.

How was Plum involved in any of this?

That man. He knew her. And not just because they were so similar. He knew what he was saying when he said she could not help them or herself. And Plum… something was very wrong. She became quiet and reserved after the meeting, which Marianne had assumed was due to the shock of finding Bog as he was. But Plum remained quiet long after and drifted off as if in a trance once they got him into the castle and to his quarters to treat him. After using the scrying mirror to talk to her dad and relaying his orders and taking some time to collect herself, Marianne realized Plum was still nowhere to be found.

Her suspicion was that the Sugar Plum fairy knew far more than she was letting on. And she was not about to be left in the dark. Not now.

Marianne turned down one of the lesser used halls leading up to one of the lowest hanging branches. Close to the entryway into the branch, which was a lookout post, was an alcove that was Plum's residence. Even all the way up here, there was no lack of activity, a few goblins tracking from deeper in the tree, nodding to her as they went to help fortify the lookout. She nodded back and quickly turned her attention to Plum's door.

It was shut and gave off a quiet feel, as if maybe the glowing woman was elsewhere.

Marianne bit her lip and took a deep breath. She tilted her head and got close, trying to listen and hear any possible movement inside. There was nothing. Tightening her wings to her back and shaking her shoulders to clear the unease, she reached out and knocked, three sharp raps to the wood.

And waited.

The sounds of the goblins further up at the lookout filled her ears and she chewed on her lip. She knocked again, tilting her head. Still nothing. Concern flared in Marianne's mind, and she threw courtesy out the window, taking hold of the handle and pushing. The door opened with surprising ease, and she blinked into the dim space.

The only light in the room came from Plum herself, very much present. She sat in the middle of the floor, curled up with something in her hands. And what light she did emanate was muted somehow, as if she had turned herself down like one would shorten the wick of an oil lamp.

Marianne tilted her head, watching Plum closely as she stepped into the room uninvited.

The woman made no movement, her hair wafting slowly, the constellation of lights within her drifting outward even slower. She seemed to be intently focused on the object.

"Hey?" she ventured, taking another step in.

Again, Plum remained still, not even a tilt of the head or twitch of an ear.

Marianne narrowed her eyes, looking at what she was holding. It appeared to be a looking glass. She shook her head in confusion. "Hey, Plum. Can you hear me?" She mentally slapped herself at how dumb that sounded.

But as the other woman remained motionless, she felt rather justified in the question.

Taking more liberty, Marianne closed the distance to Plum and knelt down. She leaned to get a better look at her. The glowing woman appearing entranced somehow, eyes glued to the glass. She looked to the glass and saw that Plum was indeed staring at herself. But not with any real purpose it seemed. She stared blankly, as if not seeing what was in front of her. As if not seeing her own reflection.

Marianne looked back to Plum and tentatively reached out, letting her fingers barely brush her shoulder. "Hey…"

Plum's eyes fluttered, but her expression remained unchanged.

Desperation got the better of her and Marianne reached across to gently cup Plum's jaw, pulling to look her in the eyes. "Plum, what's wrong?"

That blank stare broke, but not by much. "Wha… Marianne."

Panic started to well at the lost, confused tone to Plum's words. "Plum, what's wrong? Are you okay?" she asked, concern winning over her original intent for searching out the smaller woman.

"Yes, yes," Plum answered. "Just fine, fine."

"No. No you aren't." Marianne shook her head, reaching to grip Plum's shoulders. "What's going on? Why are you talking like that? You were doing it earlier in the forest?"

"Like what, what?" Plum seemed genuinely confused, however the emotion was muted, her eyes barely focused as she regarded Marianne as if in a daze. "It's nothing. I'll be, be fine," she said, turning to look at the mirror again.

Just as Marianne gave a good shake, which did little to stop Plum returning to her original blank gazing, a shuffle outside the door caught her attention.
"Princess!" She whipped around to see Guudahl in the doorway. "Dai says he's ready for you to come see him."

Tingling anxiety filled her insides. She nodded, averting her eyes. "Okay. Give me a second."

She turned back, only then noticing the state of the rest of Plum's room. It was a total mess with scrolls, books and various other things scattered about. She had only managed to visit Plum in her room once so far, when the woman wanted to show her some random cosmetic use for the moonflowers that Bog was always plucking for her. Everything had been neat and orderly, the cubbies on the wall organized, her shelved belongings meticulously placed. And now it was all in shambles. Marianne looked back to the glowing woman, concern dripping down her spine as Plum continued to stare at the looking glass. Taking a deep breath, she squeezed her tiny shoulders. "I'll be back, soon. Please stay here, but if you need anything, just come straight to me. Okay?"

Plum nodded, though the motion was slow and sleepy.

Marianne bit her lip, torn over the decision to tell Plum to stay put. Realistically, considering whatever state this was she was in, it was best if she stay where she would be safe and out of the way. Perhaps I can get Dai to do a lookover… Realization that Dai, the master healer of the castle, may not have any idea how to examine or treat someone like Plum hit her like a mudslide. Taking a deep breath, she decided to think on it later, reluctantly standing to make her way to the door. She turned and looked at Plum one more time, taking in the small, glowing woman, seated on the floor and lost in her reflection.

"What's wrong?" came Guudahl's whisper at her side.

"I don't know," Marianne answered. "Have a guard posted. Make sure she stays safe." He nodded to her, and she finally closed the door, giving Plum privacy and hopefully security.

"He's not awake yet. But he's all patched up."

The anxiety hit her again and she kept her gaze averted. "Understood." She jumped into the air and hurried down the corridor, turning into the main hall to follow the twists and turns back to Bog's chambers.

Dai had made the decision that the king should be treated in his own quarters so as to avoid accidents. With a large, open space and less foot traffic, it was less likely that something could go wrong. It let Griselda, Stuff, Thang and herself be more able to stay near and help as needed. And it gave more space and opportunity for his guards to protect him.

So many emotions pooled back into her stomach, threatening to overwhelm her like earlier. She clenched her fists tight and put more strength into her wingbeats, trying not to dwell on them. She had her moment. She had her cry. Now was the time to be strong. Be strong… for you and Bog… Her father's words soothed into her mind as she turned down the hall towards Bog's quarters. I will, she assured herself.

She stopped to land two thirds of the way down the hall, eyeing Brutus, Bokah and Bone at the end by the door, listening intently to Dai standing in front of them. The amphine was gruff, businesslike, sharp-whitted and short of words, but his experience could not be questioned. He had jumped into action the moment he caught site of Bog's condition.

And had made clear he had done this before.

The man was a longstanding resident of the castle and had been through the worst up until now. Marianne was comforted, knowing that such a learned healer was here to care for Bog. As such, she was hesitant to interrupt whatever he was saying to the guards, choosing to walk slowly along the last stretch of hall.

This forced slow pace was the only reason she heard the sobbing.

She froze, listening intently. It took a second too long to realize the familiar voice was Griselda's. She swallowed around the lump forming in her throat, glancing to the left. There was an alcove, technically a tiny hallway split into the wood, leading to the queen mother's quarters. She looked back to the end of the hall. They were all still occupied. She chewed on her lip as she heard the crying continue, feint yet piercing as it wafted from the smaller hall. She stepped to the side, closer, listening carefully.

She wanted to comfort her, if she could. But she was unsure how Griselda would feel if she just walked into her room unsolicited. A new voice froze her in place all over again.

"It's a'rite, feist. E'll make't."

"I can't… I can't…"

"Sshhh, ah've got ye."

"I can't LOSE him!"

Marianne bit her lip, her eyes stinging as she heard the deep, soothing voice of the Elder Aguun contrasting with the shrill sobbing coming from Griselda. As surprising as it was to hear the elder with her in her private quarters, all she wanted to do was run in and hold her tight.

"Ye won' lose'im, feist. Ye know e's stronger than tha'."

"It's the same thing, it's the same thing that happened to Brawn – WHY!?"

"Sssshhhh… sshhh… ah've got ye… ah've got ye…"

Griselda's muffled howling followed his words, and it was all Marianne could do to keep still. She clenched her fists tight at her side and focused on the grains of the wood in the polished floor.

Pushing on was harder than she could have imagined. Her feet felt like boulders, her legs felt filled with rocks. But she knew there was nothing she could do right then. Nothing more than what Aguun was already doing for the queen mother. And so, she took one slow step after another, raising her head to look forward with resolve.

When she was within arm's reach, Brutus and the others looked up with a jolt, as if she had surprised them. Irritation immediately spiked her chest. "Don't let that happen again," she said without thinking. "Those things were far more stealthy than I, and if I caught you off guard just walking, how do you think you'll perform when it's really needed?" Their eyes widened at the unusual show, but they did not skip a beat, nodding and standing at attention.

"Yes, your highness," Bokah spoke for them, looking to the ground.

Her ire softened instantly, and her shoulders drooped. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're right," Dai spouted. All eyes landed on him as he turned to her. "He'll neigh be able to move, let alone defend himself." He looked to the guards. "Be on your sharpest." They nodded and stood taller, squaring their shoulders. "As for you, highness," he looked back to her, expression stoic, "I should not need to list any of the standard precautions and concerns as you are yourself a flyer."

She nodded. "That's right."
He nodded back in a single, sharp motion. "Good. I'll rely on you while you're around him to make sure others are keeping these in mind."

"Understood," she answered.

"One thing you do need to be aware of is, as a halfblood, snapdragon has a greater effect on him than it does on you pure fairy-folk. As often as he'll be able to stomach it, he'll need to consume it, in whatever form. Warm tea would work best right now but eating the petals outright would be preferred. Please keep this in mind."

"Yes, sir."

"And if he starts to become too anxious or nervous and tries to move too much, soothe him like this."

Dai reached out and grabbed her wrist, standing to the tips of his toes to do so. She obliged him and stooped, watching curiously. He first pressed his thumb into the junction of her wrist just under her own thumb, rubbed in a small circular motion, and then pressed it on the opposite side, under the butt of her hand, rubbing in another circular motion. She could not say she felt any different herself, but perhaps it was specific to Bog. "Alright, I'll… I'll do that."

"You would feel it if I continued," he said, as if reading her mind. "Alternate between these two points for about five minutes on each wrist," he instructed, removing his hands from hers.

"You're so calm." If she had not stiffened at her own words, she would have slapped herself for blurting so thoughtlessly. As it was, all she could do was stare, her own expression stuck in a façade of curiosity.

Dai tilted his head, though his expression remained stoic. "I must be," he responded simply, his voice a fraction softer than before. He held her gaze for a moment, perhaps a moment too long, before straightening his healer's vest. "Now. I need to check that the healing dens are being prepared as I specified. Please hail me as needed." With that, he started past her, his tiny feet somehow echoing on the slick wood floor.

"Thank you," Marianne managed, not sure why she felt the need to thank him but unable to quell it.

"Thank you, dear," Dai said without skipping a beat, his steps continuing down the hall with calculated haste.

She stood listening for a moment, her eyes aimed down where Dai had stood. She then took a deep breath and looked up to the three. They nodded in unison, and she nodded back. "Stay sharp," she remarked.

"Yes, ma'am," Brutus said for them.

She gestured for the doors, and he opened one side for her, slowly and carefully. Passing them and stepping into the room, she noticed how dark it was, lit only by the fireplace. It was warm, but not uncomfortably so. And in the center of the whole space, midway between his bed and the fireplace, was Bog.

A wing chair, remarkably similar to wing chairs used by her own healers, had been brought in and placed strategically close to the fire. Just like the ones she was used to, it was the reverse of a normal chair, consisting of a seat with adjustable leg rests and a body rest that one would lead forward against, allowing their wings to be placed in whatever position necessary for the best possible healing. There was a difference in the wing arm that was connected on one side that raised up and over the back. The restraints were clearly made for halfbloods, the clamps larger with upside down "T" shaped ends that allowed them to carefully grasp around the larger, harder costals. Bog was adjusted appropriately, his wings positioned as neutrally as could be done. She bit her lip as she looked at his wing stalks. A type of harness had been made, holding them in position and protecting the wraps soaked with salves at the bases.

Dai had been as cool and collected as ever when he had made his initial examination: The joints had been pulled out of place and several connective muscles had been torn. She remembered having to hold her hand over her mouth to keep from retching as she watched him dig his tiny fingers into the displaced carapace plates, feeling around to get an idea of the status of the ligaments. Somehow, only one on each wing had been torn, the other two apiece still intact, likely due to the angle at which they had been pulled after the dislocation. This had lead him to the decision to force the joints back into place and bind the stalks tightly into their plates. The hope was that given time and lack of movement, the wings would heal back on well enough that they would not be lost.

However, he was very clear to warn that even if Bog kept his wings, he may not ever fly again.

The best any fairy, and by extension a fairy halfblood, could hope for when losing wings, would be to lose a single secondary wing. Flying again with such a loss was manageable, if barely. But even the loss of one primary would ground them for life.

Marianne crossed the space to him, tilting her head to view his face, leaned to the side against the headrest of the chair. He was pale, paler than she had ever seen. And he wore no expression, deep in unconsciousness. Checking around, she found the wicker stool always kept close to the fireplace and pulled it over to his side. She sank onto the seat slowly. The crackling of the fire filled her ears as she reached for his large, calloused hand, laying limp against the front arm rest. Squeezing tight, she blinked against the burning around her eyes. "I'm here," she whispered.

Only his feint breathing answered her.

She closed her fist tight in her lap. I'm here, Bog. She clenched her eyes shut, hanging her head.

And I won't let them get away with what they've done.

xXx

His room in their family home, situated just beneath the main, large mushroom bulb was small, yet homey. Sunny had a bad habit of keeping bunches of things that he ought to have thrown away ages ago. He was nostalgic that way. And not a small amount of these objects had some memory involving Dawn attached to them. If not for the fact Dawn had been in his room many times before the events of three months ago, he would have been afraid to have her step foot amongst the collection. From a tinier-than-average acorn cap, to a preserved seven leaf clover, to a handmade, mushroom leather sketchbook and charcoal pencil, to a willow wood stage staff – many held significance tied to some activity or moment with Dawn.

However, none of these were to be packed in his things for the road.

A quick getaway needed quick flight, on foot or on dragonfly, and that required a light load. Sunny looked over his items so far, consisting of a couple changes of clothes, a waterproof cloak, flint and stone, his climbing gear, his outdoor blade, some wrap and salve, and a small bag he intended to fill with preserved foodstuffs. He usually got by with the barest amount, even for a light load. He was the tiniest of his siblings and was unable to carry a great lot anyway, but over the years of his random excursions and adventures he simply found no need for much more. As of now, however, it would probably allow him to take on a bit extra should someone need it.

He glanced to Dawn, sitting at the edge of his bed facing away from him, wings draped awkwardly off to the far side. She had yet to change into her common clothes, still wearing her sky-blue day dress, embroidered with her family crest. He had been waiting patiently for her to tell him she was ready to change so he could step outside. But she was moving slow. He would have thought it methodical, if not for the exaggeratedly slow movements of her hands as she folded and refolded, or readjusted her pack straps or sorted through her things.

He sighed. "Hey. Wanna talk about it?" he ventured.

She was quiet and he knew he struck the mark. He stepped to the edge of the bed closer to her and hopped up to sit, looking at her despite her face angled from him. The benefit of knowing Dawn since they were children meant he knew when to wait and when to talk. What to say and how to say it.

If only I'd been so keen then… Sunny huffed lightly out his nose, ears flicking as he shooed away the wayward thought. There was no use dwelling on it. Or at least, that's what Dawn kept telling him.

"I just…" Sunny looked up with a start, seeing Dawn slumped, head hanging. "I just wish I wasn't so useless."

His mouth fell open as he gawked at her. "Do WHAT?"

She jumped lightly at his volume, turning wide, red-rimmed eyes on him.

Sunny shook his head incredulously, moving to stand on his bed. "What in the world makes you think you're useless!?" he asked, flailing his arms in disbelief.

Dawn shook her head, shrinking away from his energy. "I… I am, though. I…" her voice started to tremble as she looked away, "I can't fight like Marianne, can't be brave like her. I can't be a political force like dad, can't make important decisions and command troops." Tears started to trail down her face. "That's why I'm being sent away at the first sign of trouble, you know." She sniffed, bringing her hand up only to curl her fingers around her face and slouch into herself. "All I'm good at is talking to people and getting into trouble," she whined.

Before he could think to stop himself, he was already at her side, pulling her shoulder up and around and reaching for her face. He held her close, almost touching noses, honey-hazel boring into sky-blue. "Dawn, you aren't just good at talking to people and getting into trouble… you're the best at it. You don't fight like Marianne and dash into trouble, but you pick her up when she falls, and you hold her back when she needs it. You don't order troops around and direct the kingdom, but you make your dad smile when he's had a hard day and you make him remember why he does what he does." His own voice was shaking, and the stinging was terrible, but he continued, touching his forehead to Dawn's as she leaned into him, her breath coming in sorrowful gasps. "Dawn… you are so important to us… all of us." He shook his head against hers. "Every day I am grateful to know I didn't lose you forever because of my stupid. Every day I'm so thankful that I get to spend it with you. You're the light of my life, Dawn," He smiled as her breath hitched and she wrapped her arms around him, her eyes closing against her tears as his own warmed his face. "You're the light of our lives, Dawn. And we lost you once already." She buried her face into his neck, and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her tight and running his fingers through her hair.

"We aren't gonna lose you again."

Her muffled cries vibrated through his form as he held her. He rocked side to side ever-so-gently, his cheek to her hair. He would hold her for as long as she needed, situation be damned. And if he had to do it again and again and again, he would. He would still the sun and the moon in the sky if he had to. If that was what it took to remind Dawn how important she really was to him, to all of them, he would find a way to make it happen.

"I love you, Sunny," came her watery whisper shivering against his skin.

He nuzzled into her hair, burying his nose in her scent as he kissed her.

"I love you, Dawn."

xXx

He felt heavy and light at the same time, sane and yet crazed, sickly anxious and yet deathly calm.

Dagda paced his room, the door locked, and his mind dulled to everything else. He had shut Rex out despite his captain's fears. He knew it was dangerous.

Lethal even.

But he would risk no one else for his stupidity, or his insanity, if that were indeed what it was. Rex was good at hiding his inner thoughts, something one learned to do over years of a mind-link, but Dagda knew.

He knew Rex was concerned that he was going to push himself too far.

"I was right, though – I was right about the chimaera, and I was right about a Djinn - this Djinn!" Dagda yelled into the silence of his room and mind, smashing the butts of his hands into his eyes as his frenzied steps carried him in another circuit. "And If I was right about that, then-" He stopped short, taking a series of deep breaths, sucking in air through his nose and letting it out through his mouth in slow cycles. He ran his fingers up into his hair, gripping tight.

I have to do this.

He opened his eyes and started for his bed. Crawling onto the soft spider-silk blankets, sorely unused in the last several days, he turned to sit. He flared his wings out across the bed and laid back, laying his arms to his sides. The carved rock ceiling gaped at him from above and his nerves threatened to constrict his empty stomach.

In all these years, reaching so far with his mind was something he had never attempted.

Dagda closed his eyes, allowing the emptiness of his mind to swallow his senses. It was strangely easy, and yet it was such a rudimentary exercise. He waited, burrowing deeper, allowing the darkness to swallow everything, doing the opposite of what one would normally do: grounding themselves in physical sensation, touch, texture and smell. He needed to fade from the physical and let his mental energy engulf him completely. His anxiety was slowing the process, and pushing it back was becoming problematic. He had to, though. Failure was not an option. He instinctively took a deep breath, and while it created a ripple in the mental veil he shrouded himself in, he decided to push forward none-the-less. Reaching inward, he passed his own mental barriers, digging into the recesses, shuffling aside impulses and pathways. He needed what was hiding, swallowed deep within the caverns of his mind. Distance forced this issue, as it always did with this particular circumstance, no matter who was involved.

Dagda was reaching for his set mind-link with Onyx.

Just as he had established a link with Rex decades ago, he had established one with Onyx even before that. Long ago, when they were yet to even hit their twentieth years, the two had recklessly set a link between them that had become invaluable over the course of their lifetimes. They knew well the jovial chides and whispered rumors that they were in each other's heads. Never did they confirm or deny. But they laughed about it all the same.

All they had accomplished together; they could never have done without their link. All they had lived through so far; they would never have survived if not for their connection. They knew well the darkness within each other's mind… as well as the light. The bridge of sanity they ran between them was a lifeline that both had held onto dearly.

Heavens, Onyx… please…

Dagda felt the sting in his eyes as if it was a distant memory. He ignored it, pushing deeper, reaching further, feeling blindly for the pinprick of his mind that held that connection that was very much there, just stretched into the smallest sliver by distance. A hint of fear tried to work into his efforts.

What if it really was gone? What if he was months too late? What if Onyx really had been suffering in silence, tortured and broken by this Djinn and his own son? What if he… A feint tightness caught his attention as he fisted the blanket beneath him in his hands. No. No. No, no, no- The hitch of his breath felt like a flick of a feather in the dark.

There it was. It was barely there and struggling to rip from his grasp, but he had it.

Dagda gripped tightly his end of their connection, feeling already the strain as pressure at the back of his skull. The relief of knowing the connection still existed was tempered by the daunting understanding of what he was about to do. Very few were capable of stretching themselves so far. Even for as close as their kingdoms were, this distance was not something either of them were practiced at covering.

He felt the air fill his lungs as if the sensations were not his own. He felt the cloth bunch in his hands as if someone else were holding on for dear life. The pressure in his skull, however, was acute, and frightening in how solid it felt.

So be it.

Dagda focused on the pinprick in his grip and tightened his hold. He tugged lightly, feeling a pulse in his temples. It was no use. Like a taught guideline trailed through mud, the connection was mute. Inevitability pressed in on him and he pushed forward. At first, the distinct sensation of being engulfed in sand washed over his mind. That was not something he was unused to, having felt it long ago during his mental exercises when he was young.

Then came something he was not prepared for.

A sharp pulse shot through his skull as the world thrummed into focus. But not the world immediately around him in his room. The world outside the castle walls. The rock wall itself situated into his consciousness like a stab through his spine as the blades of grass outside sliced into his skin and bark of the trees grated against his wings. He felt a tremble somewhere and knew it was his physical body reacting to sensations his mind had no idea how to process. He pulled on the connection out of pure instinct and felt a push at the same time – the water of the river filled his limbs, and the air collapsed his ribcage. Pain echoed from elsewhere and he became aware of the impression of going rigid, his neck arching stiffly as his eyes throbbed behind closed lids. He tried to calm himself, but amid the sensations found himself pulling again – why did – stop – the dirt of the earth filled his mouth and river rocks smashed against his bones – stop, stop – his back arched, his legs pushed against the bed, something hot burned into his eyes – heavens, please stop – the mountain face raked against his skin, the pines ripping into his flesh, the rocks and trees tearing and shredding his wings asunder as he sped by with wild abandon – I c-can't – his skull was splitting, something snapped, thundering filled his ears – a tent of rough fabric burned his skin as the stakes pierced his limbs – please –

'Dagda!'

He collapsed back against the bed as the sensations thundered out of existence. Icy calm entered his mind and stretched inward to light the darkness.

'Dagda… speak to me…'

He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as stinging heat dispersed the red in his vision. Relief flooded his chest as he raised a shaky hand, running his fingers over his face and pulling them back to see golden-red blood coloring his skin. 'Heavens, Onyx…' His ears caught his own choked laughter, sounding more like a pained sob.

His closest friend continued spreading into his mind, pulling more of the strain of the stretched connection along to lighten the load. 'By the stars, Dagda,' came the mental impression of that deep, rasping voice, sounding as much like a heavenly choir to his wrecked mind. 'What is going on, brother?'

Dagda laughed once more. It was all he could manage in that moment. The sound carrying with it every emotion that welled to meet Onyx in answer: relief, fear, confusion, pain, concern, and so much more… but none more powerful than the sheer elation of knowing Onyx was alive. He ran his still trembling hands over his blood-streaked face as words finally found their way. 'You're alive...'

'Heavens, yes, Dagda. I'm…' the pause smoothed through their connection like a ripple in water. 'Dagda. What is going on?'

'Just… tell me you're alright. Are you alright, Onyx?'

'Yes.'

'No one has tried for… for your life? There is no war, no fighting, no…' He could not continue his words, the memories of the last several days flooding from him without control.

Onyx, ever stoic, even in mind, observed them patiently. They were only glimpses, flickers of images and impressions, poorly mushed together to create an even poorer image of events.

Resolve melted into the connection and Dagda found a deep, calming breath force his lungs open as he closed his bloodied eyes and relished the stability that Onyx provided. Like the mountain pushing tall into the clouds, Onyx held him stable and that icy cool washed over him like a cleansing rain.

'Dagda.'

'Yes, brother.'

'Tell me… everything.'

THE END - for now~

I hope you enjoyed this rocky ride! I know I did!

Keep a look out for book 2 of this series, The Similarity in Differences, coming soon!

Thank you for the read. Have a good day or night and a wonderful time~*