“This isn’t just a cold,” Leander managed to say before his lungs began to spasm once again. Her next comment might have had him chuckling wryly once, before all of this – unfortunately, his current state was no laughing matter. As the coughing fit worsened, his wings retracted reflexively. He found that he was too weak to protest her rather obstinate presence any further. Once the fit had faded, however, Leander could have sworn the winter air had become blessedly warm around him. Though he hadn’t seen the telltale flame, the chill in his bones had dissipated some as he blinked past watery eyes and worked to regain his breath.
Having recovered enough to look up at the mare with some curiosity, Leander spoke in a voice worn raw by sickness. “I went to Pangea.” It was an answer of sorts, though it only begged more questions. Questions he’d been asking himself since he’d left that forsaken place. “I tried to stop someone from being murdered.” The fact that he had to use the word ‘tried’ made his stomach twist. He grimaced. “So I guess this is what I get for trying to do the right thing.”
A short cough that had started as a self-deprecating laugh escaped him. “What’s that saying again? Nice guys finish last?” He shook his head and leaned against the solid trunk of a tree, feeling weary to his very core as he closed his eyes momentarily. After a pause, he glanced to her again. “Leander,” he offered, shrugging a shoulder to resettle the wing which was folded between himself and the roughness of the bark. While a selfish part of himself felt glad not to be alone, a nobler part felt perturbed that she refused to leave. He eyed her from beneath a sweat-dampened forelock. “If you catch this, you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”
