we built this city on broken glass

He could sense, to a certain degree, just what Alexanders plan in this was. The thoughts of the Hunter whose mind he had become so effortlessly attuned to easily pressed into the confines off his head. Assuring the stallion of the bsis of that idea. It was sound if nothing else, Frost willing to admit to that even if the press of the man's heels aimed him towards that ree line once more, his ears laying backward to flatten in display of the disdain he felt for that very suggestion. Yet, for all his wilful pride and ability to be near obscenely difficult when he chose, Frost was hardly a fool- and only a fool would have stood still to let that volley of arrows pin them to the earth. He had been shot only once in his life. The memory of that far more unpleasant than a fear of those trees. His form turned with a ready obedience, that lope quickening now to carry them towards the trees as his own affinity extended across that field to offer their enemy a falsified image to follow. The lightning that streaked the sky illuminated that battlefield ever so briefly and yet it afforded the stallion he briefest glimpse of their query all the same. Those illusions adjusted to charge towards it just as Xerxes had dared them too. That falsified Persian King appearing almost surprised that Alexander might truly be so bold as to meet his archers on an open field. For now, at least, those illusions appeared to be working.

The heavy sound of another set of hooves momentarily saw one ear turn as that thoroughbred-like chestnut raced up beside them to draw level. His immortal rider still firmly beneath Alexander's sway and urging him onward. That scent, even through the wind and rain, was almost familiar. Frost's mind taking several seconds to place it and yet that memory found him all the same. He knew that chestnut. Even if it had been years since he had last seen him. Sheppard. That name turned within his mind in the same moments it was offered to the other horse. The look of recognition on his fellow equines features assured him he was correct, though here and now was hardly the time for any sort of reunion. That Immortal rider tugging at that bridle to slow Sheppard down as Alexanders heels found his own sides to urge him only further forward. Frost easily racing ahead of the other horse now to slip into those trees. That canter forced to a trot at best and yet one that let them circumnavigate the battle going on within the field. Those trees, as much as he loathed them, affording them cover from those bows should that ruse be discovered.

Still, he hated the press of the forest, the feel of the trees, the irritation that came from being unable to see all those low hanging branches. He was, perhaps, near abnormally attentive to Alexander's own heels and hands when within those trees and yet he was near required to rely on the other man to prevent his right side colliding with anything he could hardly see. That level of trust made him...anxious. Necessary though it was. Alexanders efforts to keep his eyes on the battlefield and too- that Immortal under his sway prompting less focus then normal on Frost himself. The Hunter's usual efforts to stop anything touching the war horses right side otherwise preoccupied. Several harmless branches unexpectedly flicking against him and seeing that stallion tense in readiness for a sharpened point all the same. Several snorts of irritation blown from his nostrils and yet he hardly faltered Alexander for keeping his eyes on that battle. Frost warring against that decidedly foolish equine instinct to spook sideways at those touches, forcing himself to simply keep pressing ahead, anticipating another branch at any moment. The white stallion forcing his attention into keep those illusions from faltering.

Xerxes, for his part, seemed to have fallen for them. The Persian readily believing Frost himself had taken an arrow to the leg and was all-but totally lame and that Alexander in turn was decidedly injured. Yet, even then, the so-called King seemed unwilling to take his chances at meeting Alexander head on. Rather, the man summoned the affinity of that horse once more, the pair disappearing only to re-pair mid gallop behind that illusion to attack from behind. Those thoughts within his mind echoing easily to his own Hunter then as he came to a halt upon that tree line.

He must truly fear you if he won't face you head on, even when he thinks you are riding a lame horse and you yourself can barely swing a sword.

He had seen countless battles before and yet even Frost, for all his own ruthlessness, was inclined to admit how utterly cowardly it was not to even face a man whom was barely alive as it was- but to attempt to, quite literally, stab him in the back. Frost's own gaze shifted from Xerxes to rest upon Darius for the briefest of moments, that black Barb stallion -for all he was- was by far one of the best horses to ever come out of that breeding program. He had forgotten how fast the other stallion was. That vague consideration that he was almost reminiscent of Buchapalus hardly his own thoughts. Though they found his mind. Alexander too, it seemed, having eyes for that other equine. Frost taking that moment to arch his neck over and coil those muscles along his spine and back- as if preparing to buck. That- it seemed- enough to hurriedly draw Alexanders attention back to himself. Frost affording no explanation for that sudden action. The equine unwilling to admit the displeasure he took in Alex's attention being upon a horse other then himself. Frost content to act in that very moment as if he had done nothing at all. His attention remaining upon that battle and the limited time they had left to act before Xerxes discovered that ruse.

That soft utterance that Alexander himself was aware of that declining time saw the stallions ears rotate backwards in response to listen. The Hunter suddenly sliding from his back to swing down onto his right side. That soft snort of dislike for that positioning the only indication Frost was content to give off his displeasure at being unable to see the man. The use of those persian words seeing his head turn to watch as Sheppard and his rider begun to head towards those archers. The equines affinity, if nothing else, capable of assuring the rest of those immortals did not get involved. His own attention turned readily back to Alexander then, his head turned as much as possible to keep the Hunter in sight. He hardly feared the man bringing him any harm, rather, he simply desired to see what the Macedonian intended to do from the ground.

The sudden appearance of that spear saw his own violet eyes widen, Alexander suddenly stepping from that tree line, Frost near automatically reaching for the man to pull him back in before managing to catch himself. Those other archers fully occupied with Sheppard now. The men simply unable to look away from the chestnut, allowing Alexanders attention to remain upon Xerxes alone as he raised that spear. Frost's own ears pinning. He couldn't throw a spear from this fucking far away. He was going to miss, give them away and have Xerxes come charging down on them in a matter of moments. Damn fool. That spear hurled from Alexander's hand quite before Frost could protest. The Hunter turning away before it had even finished its flight. That hand on his neck assuring the stallion of just where Alex remained as his own eyes continued to follow that spear- as it ploughed into Xerxes chest and sent him tumbling from that horse. This one of the few times in his existence Frost was assured he had been genuinely surprised. The stallion turning to eye the man on his back a moment. Did he have an affinity for spear throwing or was that just....him? Fucking hell that was a good shot.

That command to walk forward readily seemed to draw Frost's mind away from attempting to count how far that javelline had travelled. Frost stepping forward to stride across that field. That mud squelching beneath his hooves as that rain hammered down.The movement of Xerxes body surely indicating the man was still alive and yet the spear in his chest surely alluded to how little life he had left. God how he hated that man. Frost unable to prevent himself considering how easy it would be to simply crush his skull in beneath his feet. That blood spitting from the fellows mouth in his attempts to talk surely indicative of the depth of that injury. He would not heal from that.

Alex? Do you have another spear? You might need it

How the man created those weapons he hardly knew, those thoughts offered to him all the same as they approached the dying Xerxes. His neck arched over, those ears lacing back into his sodden mane as his lips pulled back from his own teeth and yet- it was hardly Xerxes the stallion readied himself for. The fallen Persian uttering something over and over. Words Frost hardly understood and yet that darkness rippled all the same. Frost shifting sideways as Darius seemed to appear from the night itself, the black stallion favouring his left leg, that right shoulder bloodied and gashed from Alexander's first assault and yet his ears were laced back all the same. The stallion snaking forward in clear aggression, the black Barb seeming to attempt to decide whether or not his rider was worth defending. Frosts own ears pulled further back as he shifted to face the other horse, his own teeth clearly displayed in that equal threat.

"You have one good leg, Darius. I will murder you if you come at us."

That silent battle seemed to last for several more moments still before Frost finally shifted to walk those last few paces towards Xerxes. That look of disbelief clear in the fyning Hunter's gaze.

Keep your eye on Darius all the same, Alex. He will rip a limb off you if given the chance. At least while Xerxes still breaths. He is trained to defend him if he can.

For now, however, that battle was over- and how good it felt to stand above that dying man with a far better one upon his back.

FrosT