4/8/2025, 4:41 AM
![[Image: shybadge.png]](http://magatia.net/x/shybadge.png)
SKILL : GUARDIAN ( 1 / 5 )
He was developing a newfound appreciation for the rigors of travel that he and his brethren's steeds had weathered as the Guard moved across the continent.
Bearing hundreds of pounds of man, armor, plated tack, and supplies, they crossed sprawling terrain without much fuss, no matter the conditions. They waded through mud and snow and even the lower-lying foothills of mountains. As Shiloh dutifully remained at Tiberii's side, trucking through the snow, he realized he could commiserate with them now and he didn't even have several hundred additional pounds of weight to ferry around.
He really should have given Sidhe more treats back then.
Shiloh had been dubious about the trek they found themselves on, both unsure of the dream's intention and what it all could mean. Maybe they were both marching toward their deaths in unfamiliar mountains... it certainly felt like it, he mused, given the sense of doom that seemed to linger over both the immediate area and themselves.
Tiberii's words brought an ear in her direction and he couldn't help but agree with her sentiments - it did feel crazy, but they had already come this far. When he consulted his mother about the whole situation, she had encouraged him to see it through, citing something about The Morrigan and the often-fickle whims of fae.
The knight trusted her judgement, but he couldn't dismiss the feeling of wrongness that crawled across his skin.
Scents both familiar and foreign filtered to them on the arctic winds - winds, he noted, seemed only to grow more perilous the higher they climbed - and he drew closer to Tiberii. Fire and cinders would mingle in the fibers of their coats and he pressed forward, attempting to keep himself a step ahead of her in the event anything went awry.
Slowly and yet all at once, the snow began to change.
While it had been annoying before, it only thickened in its coverage, blotting out the sky overhead and almost everything around him. If not for the presence of Tiberii's side brushing his, he might have lost her to the snowstorm.
Be it a slow-moving panic or something exterior to himself, it felt like his throat was closing up. His lungs would expand, only to fall short; he felt pressure, a vise clamped across his chest that dwindled his oxygen stores. The nares of his nose flared, furtively dragging in breaths that could only deepen so far; his draws were shallow and the thinning air did not help.
To the best of his ability, he tried not to make his struggles known, but the constant fog of tattered breaths were obvious in the sub-zero air.
Every pocket of his lungs complained, stinging with the depletion of oxygen. He pushed doggedly against the blackening edges of his vision, his ears pinned back as he focused on remaining both upright and breathing. Something primitive and deeply instinctual told him if he stopped moving or sat down, it would be the confirmation of his own death.
The world was cast in purple tones and he was no longer certain if it was his diminished oxygen or some trick of the light.
Tiberii's words reached him, but they sounded distant in the grip of his internal panic. He dragged in an uneven breath, one that hitched as it attempted in vain to expand his lungs further and met only a flash of pain from the effort.
Bearing hundreds of pounds of man, armor, plated tack, and supplies, they crossed sprawling terrain without much fuss, no matter the conditions. They waded through mud and snow and even the lower-lying foothills of mountains. As Shiloh dutifully remained at Tiberii's side, trucking through the snow, he realized he could commiserate with them now and he didn't even have several hundred additional pounds of weight to ferry around.
He really should have given Sidhe more treats back then.
Shiloh had been dubious about the trek they found themselves on, both unsure of the dream's intention and what it all could mean. Maybe they were both marching toward their deaths in unfamiliar mountains... it certainly felt like it, he mused, given the sense of doom that seemed to linger over both the immediate area and themselves.
Tiberii's words brought an ear in her direction and he couldn't help but agree with her sentiments - it did feel crazy, but they had already come this far. When he consulted his mother about the whole situation, she had encouraged him to see it through, citing something about The Morrigan and the often-fickle whims of fae.
The knight trusted her judgement, but he couldn't dismiss the feeling of wrongness that crawled across his skin.
Aye,he agreed between puffs of breath as he hauled up the steep rockwork. His gaze lingered on Tiberii from his periphery, prepared to lunge in and rescue her if her footing failed. He was hyper aware of every step she took, glimpsing them through the haze of snow.
But we have t'be close.
Scents both familiar and foreign filtered to them on the arctic winds - winds, he noted, seemed only to grow more perilous the higher they climbed - and he drew closer to Tiberii. Fire and cinders would mingle in the fibers of their coats and he pressed forward, attempting to keep himself a step ahead of her in the event anything went awry.
Slowly and yet all at once, the snow began to change.
While it had been annoying before, it only thickened in its coverage, blotting out the sky overhead and almost everything around him. If not for the presence of Tiberii's side brushing his, he might have lost her to the snowstorm.
Be it a slow-moving panic or something exterior to himself, it felt like his throat was closing up. His lungs would expand, only to fall short; he felt pressure, a vise clamped across his chest that dwindled his oxygen stores. The nares of his nose flared, furtively dragging in breaths that could only deepen so far; his draws were shallow and the thinning air did not help.
To the best of his ability, he tried not to make his struggles known, but the constant fog of tattered breaths were obvious in the sub-zero air.
Every pocket of his lungs complained, stinging with the depletion of oxygen. He pushed doggedly against the blackening edges of his vision, his ears pinned back as he focused on remaining both upright and breathing. Something primitive and deeply instinctual told him if he stopped moving or sat down, it would be the confirmation of his own death.
The world was cast in purple tones and he was no longer certain if it was his diminished oxygen or some trick of the light.
Tiberii's words reached him, but they sounded distant in the grip of his internal panic. He dragged in an uneven breath, one that hitched as it attempted in vain to expand his lungs further and met only a flash of pain from the effort.
I don't know,he stated as steadily as he could, but the words were raspy and chopped. He sought out Tiberii's warmth and presence, as much to assure himself as it was to confirm where she was. If this was indeed their day of deliverance, he didn't want it to be alone.
![[Image: Viv_ShilohFB.gif]](https://sig.grumpybumpers.com/host/Viv_ShilohFB.gif)
