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[Cezanne Abella]

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“Althea. Come on…” Cezanne paused in the blazing dusk’s heavy pallor and looked backward toward where her fluffy black kitten had stopped following, instead perched atop a stone on the West Britain bridge.

Althea lifted her golden-eyed gaze from the water momentarily to watch Cezanne, gauging her patience with this newfound distraction. Finding no immediate cause for concern, she gave a very feline toss of her head and looked straight down into the water again. Beneath the surface, gold-tinged carp writhed against her glassy reflection.

“Althea!” Cezanne stalked exaggeratedly back toward the cat, who immediately jumped down and padded hastily to her human’s side. Cezanne bent down to give the cat’s ears a gentle scratch, then continued on toward the stables. Behind her, the adolescent feline gave a chirpy trill and trotted with her tail held high, shadowing Cezanne’s footsteps.

[Cezanne Abella]

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Having entrusted Althea into safer hands, Cezanne claimed the reins of her dark steed, Covenant. She placed her palm gently against his muzzle as he snuffled her familiar touch, then blew a gust of air in excited greeting. His flanks quivered as she mounted up, and Covenant dashed out the stable door ahead of her command. Outside, Arahim sat astride his own steed, a fair match for Covenant. He was calm and quiet, and watched Cezanne as she reined Covenant in lazy circle around him. As she reached the far side of him, she widened the circle, sidling northward toward the road to Britain with a sly grin.

“Race you there!” Cezanne gave the reins a flick and lowered down over Covenant’s flying mane as she allowed him to open up into a wide gallop. Behind her, she was sure Arahim and Glowian were in close pursuit, but she didn’t spare a look back. Covenant ran full tilt, and Cezanne settled into his rhythm, her cloak afly in summer twilight’s scorching breath.

But something was wrong. She should have reached the bridge by now. Especially with the wide head start she’d given herself. She slowed Covenant to a trot, looking around her, realizing that she’d overshot the west bridge by half a mile.

After a hasty backtrack, Cezanne finally emerged from the moongate quietly, with an embarrassed grin. Arahim sat silently within the circle of stones with his back to her, impossibly oblivious to her arrival. Only when Covenant nickered in quiet greeting to Glowian did Arahim turn around to face her as the two horses snuffled one another.

“Songbird!" He grinned innocently. "Did you win?”

Cezanne laughed. “Mhm!”

“Excellent.” Arahim smiled more genuinely and nodded toward the south. “C’mon…Yew awaits.”

[Arahim]

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Wide eyed in disbelief, Arahim peered cautiously over the top of his upraised shield. His every fleeting thought choked out and confused in an oppressive, lingering scent of burnt ozone. The very air he breathed making impossible the effort to turn the last few moments from belligerent recollection to actual speech.

Mouth slack, he stared agog.

"Corp por!" she sang out with a giddy seriousness that only Cezanne Abella could manage without causing a clash of unlike moods to seem glaring and fractious. As in most things she did or said, there was music in her spell no matter how reckless, but well meaning, it had turned out.

The Headless lay scant feet in front of Arahim, it's chest opened and smouldering. As scorched and blackened as the edges of his armor where his shield had not quite given cover to. His hackles stood on end, dancing with the slowly fading residue of sudden electrical shock.

A swarm of buzzing taking residence between his ears.

Bright wisps swam and popped in the ether of his vision.

Glowian stamped her hooves in consternation, tossing her midnight mane from side to side in a vain attempt to shake away the tingly effects of Cezanne's energy bolt detonating with such intimate proximity. She cast sidelong glances at her rider and snorted several pointed, "I told you so's."

Their short ride through Yew had left a considerable trail of identical bodies...with identical results to Arahim's armor and (now) frayed nerves.

"I'll save you." said Cezanne sitting straight and tall in her saddle. Her chest puffed out proudly, and not a hair out of place. Laughter painted her words, and touched her pure green eyes, yet she kept her features serene and composed.

Again, confounding labels, and intent.

Accepting Arahim's helpless inabilty to form a cogent response as gratitude, she nodded once, very satisified, and rode on.

"Coming?" she asked innocently as she passed him.