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Then, to cap off an already unpleasant day, they had met up with Mennios the Woodling, who in between sessions of furiously grooming his long brown fur had reminded them that Sa, their mutual good friend and a Wolven Priestess, was just about due for her litter. Cryss was touched by the moving display of concern from the usually businesslike and crusty Unicorn, but was beginning to worry that he'd never hear the end of it. Still, every time the Unicorn saw Cryss wince when he pushed a branch aside or rub his head where the bruise lay like a hard nut under his skin, the guilt overcame him and he apologized all over again. Cryss had assured Straven over and over that he understood completely and wasn't angry at all.
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The stately old Unicorn had apologized to Cryss over and over for pitching him forward so suddenly that he had tumbled head-over-tails into the underbrush, receiving a nasty bruise on his head and a sprained wrist in the bargain. To make them even more tense, Straven had spotted a Sentinel hovering around and had been forced to suddenly throw Cryss from his back to stop him from singing the Song of the Fox he'd been singing. Then, when the beast finally fell and the air rang with the echoes of relief from the newly-freed (and much-relieved) mind that had propelled it, they had gotten almost no chance to rest at all before one of the Citizen's Posses had caught up with them (probably drawn by the Thundernote Cryss had been forced to sing) and they had to flee for their lives through the dense forest. Memories like that made seeing the monstrosities Atoll called his "beauties" even worse, horrifying forms inhabited by the broken and bleeding minds of Atoll's torture subjects, minds so filled with pain and fear that all they could do was lash out in mindless anger.Ĭryss and Straven had fought this particular beast for almost the entire morning, Cryss with his mindblade and his songs, Straven with his hooves and horn.
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Cryss remembered when Proscutt had been the Elder Glade's brightest young druid, able to create creature-forms of stunning beauty and innovative design, which the Elders then projected themselves into to try them out (one of the perks of being an Elder).Ĭryss could remember one particular form he had gotten to try (a rare treat for a young Wanderer), a graceful creature with eight slender but supple legs and a long proboscis, that could wend its way through the branches of trees like it was swimming in a sea of green. For that matter, he doesn't know what's night and what's day any more. Proscutt must have really been hitting the absinthe that day, thought Cryss sadly, not that he knows what Atoll feeds him any more. Its mouth had been a twisted mass of multilayered fangs, its face was an eyeless earless sphere of grey flesh, and the rest of the body looked like it had been assembled from discarded parts of a thousand failed sculptures. First there had been the rude awakening in the early morning as one of Atoll's warbeasts attacked them in their sleep. As he shimmied down the trunk of the ancient oak, his head swam with memories of the day. There was no sign of Atoll's Sentinel, and he could finally get some sleep.
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Cryss sighed and climbed down from the tree.