it's not by bone but yet by blade
can break the magic that the devil made
The scars that were slashed across his back and sides burned at the sight before him. A good number of them had wings, as he once did before they were torn violently from his body. It ached where they used to be, the muscles for flight long withered away and useless over his shoulders. He gazed briefly over each of them present, learning the faces as he settled like a large lone wolf off to the side.
The smallest of them spoke up and claimed his cool gaze, immediately reminding him of Smidgen. His heart ached at her memory, the girl with fairy wings that had not been as young as she seemed. Small and childlike, this similar fairy offered hope to the questers before instructing them on their task.
”We need flowers from the Brilliant Pampas. One each of red, white, yellow, pink, and orange blooms.”
His brows pulled together in puzzlement and he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly with a long blink. Damn. Perhaps his sleepless nights were finally catching up to him. It would be his luck that it would choose now, at this important moment, to affect him.
He listened as his penetrating gaze shifted to the others as one by one they grew drowsy too. They were dropping in slow motion, drifting to the earth and falling right asleep. His frown deepened into a scowl, meeting a winged woman's eyes just as she joined them in oblivion. With a low growl, his attention flew to the fairy again, fully aware how heavy his eyelids seemed. He felt drained, fatigued, and like each part of him suddenly weighed so much more.
Unnatural.
He crashed to his knees, fighting it as hard as he could. It wasn't the first time magic was used to manipulate him, nor was it the second time. His teeth were clenched tight, but it was a losing battle. There was no power to fight this. They were all powerless.
“But they have to be from spring’s first blooming - which is already upon us. Hurry!”
His fur pressed beneath him as he slumped to the ground, fury burning in his helpless heart. All the rage in the world - and he had plenty of it - couldn't keep him awake under this. A sigh was all he had the strength for as his cheek met the ground and his eyes closed. He slept just as deeply as the rest of them.
and it's not by fire but what's forged in flame
can drown the sorrows of a huntsman's pain
