Disclaimer: No.

A/N: I'm so so SO sorry that I haven't updated! I have tons of excuses, however, like school started again. Yeah, that hell-hole where you supposedly learn stuff. And since it's high school, well.you know how that goes.

So anyway..here's my apology chapter! Things get interesting!

Chapter 8 - Separated

The streets were quieter at night, realized Devon, and she told Quinn so, when he rode up on Wesley, the proud gray freshly bathed, his white, silky mane flowing in soft ripples down his shoulders. Psyche whinnied in greeting to his friend, shaking his mane. Or what had been his mane.

One morning, when Devon had come down to the stable to feed Psyche his grains and have a little chat with her trusted destrier, she'd found a young stable girl, maybe six or seven years old, standing on a tall stool, her nimble fingers twisting Psyche's mane into braids, rolling them into tiny knots on the crest of his neck, and tying them with fine pieces of thread the color of his mane to the exact shade.

When Devon inquired as to what the lass was doing, somewhat perplexed that her lordly stallion was letting a girl 'do his hair', as Quinn had so aptly called it when she'd told him, the girl had shrugged.

"You seem like the impromptu type, milady, begging your pardon, I meant no offense." She had said. This had helped Devon none and she'd said so firmly.

"Always running around at a moment's notice, milady. If you please, your stallion's mane is so beautiful, and so long, it might get caught and knotted if you ride in the woods, milady." With a deep curtsy, she'd begun to clamber off the stool, leaving half of the destrier's mane undone.

"No, I like it." Devon had insisted. She left the girl with bright eyes and a huge smile, braiding and knotting Psyche's mane. When she'd returned, she'd found a complimentary braid encompassing the top half of his thick tail as well.

"Ready for a ride?" Quinn asked, interrupting her thoughts. Nonetheless, it was a pleasant interruption; the potion had turned the skeleton into a handsome young knight with eyes as soft as a fawn's and the same hue as one's fur, and a mop of unruly blonde hair that fell into his eyes. Still, when a young lady stopped to flirt with him and bat her eyes, Devon would have to harness a loud snort of humor, thinking of that the fair ladies' reactions would be if he 'forgot' to take a potion on this journey.

"I beg to differ." Devon grinned, "You just want to survey the ladies." He nearly was unseated from his horse at this comment in surprise.

"I do not!" He exclaimed indignantly, and he opened his mouth for another retort, but Devon merely smiled sweetly and began to canter away, Psyche's hooves stirring up little puffs of dust that trailed like silk scarves behind her. He had no choice but to follow.

The forest was serene, its silence was warm and inviting. Shafts of light lanced through the gaps in the trees' foliage, highlighting parts of the forest floor. They stopped their horses at a small creek where the water bubbled over a few rocks, splashed an inch to the next level of water, then down and down and down to wherever it was going.

Psyche engaged Wesley in a water fight, though the creek barely came to their ankles in most places. They splashed up and down the creek's bed, Psyche a step ahead of the older Wesley at all times. Thoroughly irritated by the rambunctious young stallion, the gray destrier folded his legs beneath him and lay in the stream, water swirling around his rather wide barrel.

Psyche, being completely baffled by his playmate's behavior, jogged down to him and took a long gray ear in his teeth pulling gently. Devon stifled a giggle as Psyche looked back at her, overtaken by confusion. He cocked his head as if to say, 'What did I do? What?' Feeling affronted, he lay down underneath a willow tree, rolling onto his side and closing his eyes.

"Always has the last word." Quinn commented quietly, laughing softly as silence once again coated the forest around them.

Devon let out a sigh and flopped onto her back with a thump, her gray eyes looking up at the light sifting through the trees' leaves, turning them an even brighter green.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Quinn asked wisely. Devon nodded.

"So many things happening." He added, prodding lightly at her to speak.

"Mmhmmm." She sounded in agreement, and slowly her eyes fluttered closed.

Quinn grinned and flopped onto his back as well, felling the cool air soothingly around him and soon drifted off as his companion had.

A sound made Devon jump up from a sitting position and smack her head right on a tree limb she'd been able to avoid earlier. Rubbing her face between her eyes, grumbling a few choice curse words, she looked over at Psyche, standing alert at the shore of the stream, ears pricked, eyes bright, though wary. His nostrils tested the air.

Wesley was sensing it, too. He dragged himself to his feet, looking around. He rumbled lowly at Psyche, pawing the water with his hoof.

"Quinn, Quinn wake up!" Devon whispered urgently. Quinn's eyes opened, and he jumped into a sitting position.

"What is it?" He asked quietly. Devon put a finger to her own lips, a gesture of silence, and began to tack up Psyche, as quietly as she was able. Quinn grabbed his tack and flung it over Wesley's back, cinching up the girth and throwing the bit into the gray's mouth, and just in time. As soon as the bridle had slipped over the horse's ears, a huge thing stumbled through the trees, slashing away any plant in its way.

Spidren, two of them. They bared their fangs and clicked their front pair of legs together, grinning maliciously. Devon felt her hand stray to the hilt of her sword, and as her fingers brushed the hilt, the female spidren lashed out, cutting a long scratch into Devon's hand.

Quinn was faster that Devon at getting his sword drawn. He slashed it, the blade whistling past the male spidren's ear, catching his attention. As the larger spidren of the two began to turn towards him, he yelled,

"Take that one, we'll meet back at the town when we're done!" With that, he wheeled Wesley around and galloped from view, crashing through the trees. The male spidren roared in frustration of having his foe leaving so quickly, and followed with a vengeance.

Devon turned back to the spidren female that stared back at her, neither quite sure of what to do next. Until that is, Devon took a leaf from Quinn's book. She took a dagger from her boot, threw it at the spidren, and after hearing the thunk of the blade embedding itself into the spidren's body, she smacked Psyche on the hindquarters with her hand, and he took off through the trees.

After a while, Devon stopped Psyche. It was dark, and she couldn't see much. There was no sound. It was quiet.

Too quiet.

A twig cracked.

Devon watched the spidren calmly, looking it in the eyes in a silent challenge. It hissed and clicked its two pincers at her, swinging its greataxe, making the blade whistle through the air. She didn't move, though her hands tightened on the reins a bit.

"Steady." She whispered so lowly only Psyche's ears could pick it up. The spidren growled deep in its throat as it stared back at her. With a screech, it lunged. Psyche whinnied and galloped around the hairy creature into the darkness, the thing hot on his heels. He leaped over fallen trees and weaved around bushes to make him harder to catch, but the spidren was as maneuverable as he, and gained steadily.

Turning to look back, Devon spotted her sword at her side, the shining iron glinting even in the complete darkness. With a ring, she drew it from the scabbard and swung back, catching the spidren in the jaws as he reached to bite Psyche's hindquarters. She shrieked in rage, swinging her ugly head from side to side, and then with a roar she charged after Psyche's disappearing form.

A shadow loomed in the path ahead of them, a fallen log, nearly six feet in height and the same in width. Instead of slowing down, Devon urged Psyche faster until she thought he'd lose his balance. The wind whistled in her ears like a lone flute as he galloped at a blistering pace towards the log, his ears laced back against his neck and his weight shifting back to his hindquarters.

At the last moment, sharp fangs sunk deep into Devon's side and their pace rapidly slowed. The spidren clung for dear life to her left side at the ribcage, his teeth ripping her cloak, vest, blouse, and skin to shreds. Psyche still jumped, but with the added weight was slammed hard into the log, pinning Devon's leg against the wood. A small branch was forced into her thigh as the stallion was trapped next to the log. Her leg was shattered, she could tell from the limpness of it hanging, tied to her horse's side. The spidren snarled in triumph as she reached forward, fangs bared.

Devon used the opportunity to swipe at the waiting jaws, and Psyche bucked, sending her into the air, rolling over the top of the log and dropping her on the other side. She stopped rolling, staying in one place, her useless leg tucked next to her chest as she wrapped her arms around it, wincing, shutting her eyes fiercely to keep from crying and clenching her jaw to keep from screaming.

There was a sickening crunch, and Psyche clambered up the log, leaping off of its top and trotting over to her. Blood began to seep through a hole between the ground and the log, its acid greenness seeming to light with a sinister glow.

"Let's get out of here." Devon said shakily. With Psyche's help, she managed to hobble a few feet before Psyche suddenly stopped as he had with the spidren, ears pricked. He looked around, seemed to decide that everything was all right, and moved on. Without warning, is feet were tugged from underneath his body, and Devon saw a rope stretched taut, tied to a tree. She rolled away as the stallion crashed to his side, but she couldn't stand and run to free him. Instead, inch-by-inch, she crawled.

Small noises like whispers caught her ears, and she stopped, hand paused in mid motion reaching for the rope. She caught snatches of conversations in hushed tones, and she knew whoever they were, they were talking about her. It sent shivers up her spine. Steadying herself, she put her hand down and good leg out, searching for a trap. A loop curled around her bad leg's ankle, and she was hoisted into the air, hanging by her broken leg. Tears pricked her eyes and her leg burned as if it was on fire. Psyche bellowed a war cry and tried to stand, but it was no use. He tumbled onto his side, useless to either of them.

Before Devon closed her eyes and succumbed to the darkness that had tugged at her since the log, she saw some shadowy shapes not far off, their hands reaching for her with ghostly fingers.

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