Through Fire and Flames

<sub>Blind. He was blind. The heat blazed around him, sending scents of scalding ash and heated blood into his nose, and all he could see was death and fire and shadow.

Saycha pinned his ears and reared back in a panic as the mare he had been running beside fell heavily to the blood-soaked ground, her eyes dimming before she even hit the ground. He could not mourn, could not afford to stop, however, as behind him lay ruin and fear, and ahead lay, if nothing else, hope.

The gelding slammed to a halt and veered to the side as a mounted soldier careened into his path, and onwards Saycha ran, panic in his eyes as he thoughtlessly trampled all that came into his path.

Blood, ash, fire, flame, death, death, death.

A scream rent the air, cutting through the panic-induced fog in his brain. Saycha turned with wide eyes and, upon seeing the form of his pack leader, began to gallop in the direction of the pack.

Pack was family. Pack was safety.

He was almost there.

But then suddenly, his path was cut off once more -- this time by a group of drows, their metal skins of a different make than the usual. The nearest two fell to his hooves, however the second tripped him up, and so he was flung to the side, hitting the ground with a bone-shuddering force.

Groggy, off-kilter from his fall, Saycha struggled to his feet and continued on towards where he had last seen the rest of the pack, favouring his left hind leg after the sprain it had endured. There would be no more high-speed chases for him, not that night.

But the pack was gone. Had probably moved on, called back by the soldiers -- for the battle was won, and the war put on hold for the night...

Saycha pinned his ears and let out a small, desperate whine, his eyes rolling back as panic flared up again as he saw nothing but bodies. He couldn't be left here amongst the fire and the dead and dying. He'd never make it home to the pack, not with his foot like this. He'd never make the journey unaided.

With a despairing grunt, the mottled gelding fell to his knees and rolled onto his side, closing his eyes as he breathed in... out.... in.... out.

Peace. Quiet. There was no fire, no flame. Just him, just Saycha...

Saycha...

"Saycha."

It took a moment, but Saycha finally managed to pry his eyes laboriously open, letting out a pained whine at the sudden flare of light. The flared blur took a moment to coalesce into a picture, but when it finally did, he realised something stood before him. Hooves. Those were hooves, and legs, and...

Verth.

Saycha pricked his ears and forced his eyes up, meeting the cool, calculating gaze of his pack brother, Verth. The other Hellraiser's eyes were their usual mixture of fierce and angry, however something in the other's bearing soothed Saycha's mind and gave him the strength he needed to push himself to his hooves one last time.

As soon as the small Raiser was upright, the larger gelding was by his side, tucking Saycha's neck under his own in a fiercely protective grasp. For a moment, Saycha almost panicked at the hard grip, however seconds later the scent of Verth and pack cut through the fire, flame and death, and Saycha finally found his calm.

Verth held the smaller Raiser in the tight grip for a moment longer, till he felt the other gelding relax. Then, and only then, he relaxed his grip, pressing his shoulder to Saycha's as he turned them in the direction of home.

"One last run, brother."

And they ran.</sub></i>

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Entry for the current Snjorrir Challenge!

Fire, for my boys Verth (584) and Saycha (585) <3
_{Even though I can't fire properly, omg what even are those wiggly glow worms back there, sigh.}

Love these two, even if I don't get to do much with them oTL

Anywho, cookies to anyone that slogs through my horrible disjointed writing! And hope you guys like the art ;u;