Before Fixel could take another breath, they were moving. Dust clouded the air as hundreds of paws pounded as one. The army became one body, all curving and twisting in one smooth motion. Fixel had to push himself to run, the familiar warmth beside him lending him energy and speed.
Up ahead, another set of paws moved together. Darker paws, black as night. They grew closer, charging with impossible speed, until finally both bodies collided.
If Fixel hadn’t been ready for the run, he was woefully unprepared for the rush of battle. The next he knew, the darkness cut into the rows ahead of him, swallowing the general and her lieutenants. It took all of his willpower to keep sprinting forward.
In front of him, a golden wolf fell, locked deep in combat with a black wolf. The Flamewylf to his left leaped forwards, flames swirling around his neck as he barrelled into an enemy wolf. A sudden weight seemed to press down on Fixel, and he found himself staggering to a stop. Beside him, Flisety halted immediately, barely leaving his side.
Their flanks pressed together. This time, there was no missing the fear bright in Flisety’s eyes. He bunched his shoulders, trying to muster the courage to fight.
More wolves dived aside in front of them, tearing down a barricade similar to the one they’d left behind, and then there they were. Shadewylves, wolves of darkness that ripped away any false bravado he might have held before.
Green eyes, pale as brurrar’s snow-touched leaves, locked onto him. A huge wolf, muscles rippling in her forelegs. As she charged towards them, Fixel reached for his magic, his chest constricting as he fumbled for a hold on the wooden darts clasped to his back. How had Flisety lifted them with such ease?
A rush of panic shattered his concentration, brought by a brush of wind at his flank. Flisety had left his side. But he had no time to give into it; the Shadewylf was fast approaching.
Air swooped past his ears, and Fixel felt his magic give way. His mind clasped around a dart and pulled it forwards, making him clench his fangs together as he forced it towards the wolf ahead.
It swung away from her chest, instead impaling in her shoulder. He hoped it would be enough. He kept his hold on the magic only long enough to see red bloom through the Shadewylf’s dark fur as she staggered to a halt with a yelp.
Then he was turning sideways, leaping away, his gaze whipping from wolf to wolf. The valley was a writhing mass of colour. He cared only for one colour, her colour, that perfect shade of pink.
Dodging around the Flamewylf, he spun again, waves of terror clutching at his heart and clawing at his throat. “Fliss!” he yelled, the nickname painfully sharp in his jaw.
There. His paws were moving before he had even thought to push them forward. His sister was a fragile streak of pink trapped beneath a dark beast, so close to snarling fangs, so close to being ripped from him entirely.
Now the extent of his uselessness burned clear in his mind. If he stopped to attempt his magic, it would take too long. He wasn’t quick enough or skilled enough to save Flisety. He was helpless to stop those fangs as they moved ever closer to his sister’s exposed neck.
He could do nothing but blindly leap.
Time froze as he lingered in the air. His claws stretched forward uselessly. He saw the tip of a fang touch a pink neck.
Something burst from his chest, powering him forward. Perhaps it was his magic, or merely the raw force of determination. He didn’t hesitate to find out. His claws sunk through black fur, and then he was crashing into the Shadewylf, sending them both toppling away from Flisety.
Pushing with everything he had, Fixel clung on, pressing his claws deeper. He was drawing blood. It felt strange – sticky scarlet liquid flowing down the pads of his paws, a sensation somewhere between sickening and satisfying. But there was no time to ponder it. He pushed deeper, driving the wolf to the ground.
His flash of victory lasted bare seconds.
The shock had hindered the Shadewylf for a moment, but now he pushed back with full force. Helpless once again, Fixel scrabbled at his hold as the wolf slipped away, then came down harder, and he was pressed painfully into the dry earth.
A scream that formed his name sliced through the air, barely recogniseable as Flisety’s gentle tone. He squirmed, trying to catch a glimpse of her, but his vision was obscured by tangled black fur.
Claws clasped around his throat, forcing his head upwards to meet the eyes of his attacker. They were a light purple colour, a violet. Almost pretty. But the malicious sparkle lingering within took away any beauty that might have resided there.
The air swished with movement, and a wooden dart struck the Shadewylf’s shoulder. He winced, his grip slackening. Cursing his slow movements, Fixel squirmed, trying to use the brief advantage to pull away.
But within moments the tight grip was back. Even with a dart lodged in his side, the Shadewylf’s stare was ferocious. There was no getting away.
In one last burst of energy, Fixel lashed out, clawing at the Shadewylf’s wounded side. The strike carved him a gap through which to see Flisety.
Her eyes were wild, desperate, painted with deepest fear. Another dart whipped around to hover at her side, its tip trembling, as if even her magic was clogged with shaking terror. He met her gaze, and within it he found the hard determination always fierce within her. A sure sharpness, a beam of hope.
But it was futile. She knew it, and he did too. There was no saving him now, not anymore.
"You look beautiful, Fliss," he called softly. "I love you."
The final word he choked out as he found his throat closing in on itself. Dark claws curled around it, cutting deep gouges into his skin. He could feel the blood coating his jaw.
The pain was immense.
He tried to gasp for air but found the action impossible. He could only stare away from the Shadewylf, away from those harsh violet eyes, right at Flisety. Right at her crumbling beacon of hope.
Her jaw opened in a scream, perhaps forming the word no, but the blood pounding in his ears drowned out the sound. Her dart rushed forward, striking the Shadewylf beside the first, but it was too late. Not too late for her, but too late for him.
Wisps of darkness tugged at the world’s edges. Still he held her gaze. Though he could no longer form words, he hoped the simple look would convey everything he wanted to say, all in the space of that moment.
I promise I'll never leave you. Not properly.
The colour drained from his vision, and he saw her no more.
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