Page 101 of Blood Fist
Ridan grumbled when they dragged out his throne and forced him to sit on it to observe the festivities. Gustall pushed a mug of drink in his hands and a few sips later he was slouched, one leg draped over the arm of the chair as he shouted at the wrestling matches that began in the flickering light of the fires. His feral grin slashed across his face, eyes wild with alcohol and glee as he watched his clansmen get thrown into the dirt at his feet. Wild cackles accompanying their defeat as he ripped into a leg of meat.
Brune couldn’t take his eyes off him.
It was the first time in a long while that he saw not the chief, or the omega, but just Ridan. How he should be—young, wild, unencumbered with things like responsibility or grief. Brune wished he could enjoy the festivities with him. Sit by his side and listen to his snide commentary and his ear-splitting laughter.
Perhaps he could have. There were several times he was caught staring by Corric. The omega raised his eyebrows in question, but didn’t leave his spot to ask. The clan wouldn’t have minded. Brune was one of them now. The only person keeping him sat on the other side of the fire was Brune himself.
Because he knew if he stood and breathed in Ridan’s scent, saw the warmth of a pleasant evening painted on his cheeks, or those bright eyes that defied a definite color, he would be lost. Truly. He would fall headfirst without checking himself. Deep into an abyss he didn’t think he would ever crawl from.
Or ever want to.
He pacified himself by chatting with anyone who came by and sneaking glances through the smoke and hoping they would brand themselves to memory. Onehe could savor when he was alone, when his hands ached with longing to hold sun baked skin and the desire to feel ashen hair tickling his face ran rampant through his veins.
Tapping his fingers on his mug, he debated just chugging down the remnants, hoping the alcohol would burn the desire from his mind. Or make it worse.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Schok and Buzzard half hidden by a tent. They were only present because of Sehleh’s threats. She told the two she’d drag them out by their ears if they didn’t come celebrate with the clan. Fear drove them out but couldn’t make them come sit by the fire's edge. Corric brought them food and drink as they huddled under their thick cloaks, watching the clan with suspicious eyes. Most of the clan were too enamored with celebrating to notice, but those who did wrote them off as tired or drunk.
The only person notably absent was Jonen. Actually, Brune hadn’t seen him in a day or so. After Schok woke up, he stuck around to help but then disappeared. Neither Sehleh nor Corric knew where. Ridan just shrugged when Brune asked and went back to looking at maps of the region Gustall drew up for him.
None seemed worried, though Corric looked put out more than once this evening when he saw Derry dragging a stiff Halm into a dance. The tall alpha was so afraid of falling over her own feet she moved as if someone had tied her joints in a vise. Derry didn’t mind, dropping his forehead to her chest and coaxing her into relaxing as the singers crooned off tune.
Pushing himself to his feet, Brune felt unsteady, but managed to walk to where Corric was sitting. He took a seat next to him.
Corric glanced at him out of the corner of his eye before downing his mug. “You celebrating alone, too?”
Brune chuckled and gestured to the folks around them. “I’m not alone.”
Lip curling, Corric stole his mug and drained its contents before handing it back to Brune. “Excuse me if I lack your cheer.”
He knew Corric was upset about Jonen’s absence, but he wasn’t sure how to make him feel better. Even over the thick smoke, he could smell the bitter scent coming off Corric. He was about to say something when the raucous singing taper off. Finding the sudden silence jarring, he looked over his shoulder to see a crowd of people parting.
Through the smoke and darkness, he couldn’t quite make out what was so fascinating, but he eventually made out a lone figure leading a horse. As they stepped into the glow from the fire, Brune’s mouth fell open, the empty mug falling from limp fingers with a thud.
Jonen was limping, holding the lead of a horse. But not just any horse. At least not any that Brune had ever seen before. The creature was fine boned, with a thick mane that danced with every step. Ears raised high, the tips curved in so steeply they nearly touched. It was as if the horse had a small halo above its head.
But it wasn’t the horse’s fine features or its unusual ears that drew everyone’s attention, it was its coloring. The horse looked like dappled moonlight. A soft grey that shimmered even without light. Like each hair was so thin and fine it could reflect light better than the clearest lake. Even the plain rope Jonen had tied around the horse’s head couldn’t detract from its elegance. It moved as if it knew just what it was, each hoof proudly lifting before delicately setting down with the barest disturbance of dirt.
Beside the majestic animal, Jonen looked ragged. He was covered in mud and dried blood. Beyond his limp,he held his left arm at an odd angle. Despite that, there was a glint of determination in his eye.
Corric hesitantly rose to his feet. Of all the people staring, he looked the most shocked. His eyes were wide, grey irises catching the light from the blaze as they took in the scene before him. Brune just barely heard him murmur ‘Crushed Crystal’before he began walking towards Jonen.
The pieces all fell together for Brune. Shortly after he arrived, he remembered gardening with Corric, and while they gardened, he was regaled with all sorts of legends and myths surrounding the Stone Blade. One of Corric’s favorites was the wild horses of the Crushed Crystal Gardens.
After the magic of the land was tainted, the elves who lived between the Stone Blade and the Torn Cove moved on. Leaving behind some of their fantastical crystal gardens. Corric said they were said to be acres and acres of multicolored crystals sparkling under the sun. Such was their beauty that once humans tried to steal them, but were so blinded by wonder, they were frozen in awe.
The crystals were beautiful, but fragile. Without the elves’ tender touch, the magic bled from them. Over time, they crumbled, eroded by weather and time. It was said a wild band of horses seeking greener grass moved into the territory. Uninterested in the crystals, they walked all over them, crushing them into the ground. The fragments of crystals fertilized the grass, helping it to grow green and strong.
Unaware of what was beneath their hooves, the horses ate the grass. The fragment of crystals changed them. Made them smarter, faster, hardier, and most noticeably, altered their coats.
Most believed the Crushed Crystal Horses werenothing more than legend. But Corric said Restrina took them on a hunt once, told them to climb a tree and remain silent. They sat in the tree for hours until they finally saw the band of legendary horses. They moved with such swiftness to blink was to miss them. But Corric said he never forgot those brief moments of beauty.
And now there was one here in their camp. Corric’s stories did not do the horse justice.
Jonen met Corric’s eyes, swallowing nervously as the taller omega approached.
“How?”
Jonen fiddled with the lead in his gnarled hands. “I…tracked the herd. I followed them for days and days only to find nothing but tracks,” Jonen began, his voice hoarse. “Then I finally found him.”