we built this city on broken glass

It was no simple task, to focus his mind near entirely upon the crafting of those illusions and too- to keep navigating that forest he could see only half off. He had never before been made to rely upon his rider quite so much as he did Alexander in those moments and yet those days and weeks and months he had spent with the man had fostered a degree of trust that had simply been non-existent between the stallion and any previous partner. After all, he had had several of them lead him astray on purpose while equally as many had simply not cared what had happened to him. At least, not enough to go to any real trouble to assist him. To partner him properly. He had become self reliant as both a human and a horse. So many years of trusting no one other then himself was a difficult sort of damage to undo and yet slowly, steadily, Frost had come to...accept Alexander's assistance quite unlike he had any other. The Hunter never had led him astray, at least not yet. He knew the man cared even if he struggled to accept it at times. That simple, singular gesture of reaching down to brush that branch away from his side only further proof of that and yet for now Frost hardly voiced those considerations. His attention remaining instead upon those crafted illusions and assuring his control on them remained. The war horse displaying a decided degree of talent when it came to that affinity and yet, Frost believed strongly in exercising control and mastery off those powers in turn. The stallion simply never satisfied until those affinities were exceptional.

He could hardly help the fashion that his own features shifted into an image of disdain for those almost cowardly tactics he witnessed before him. War was war, in the end, the rules did not truly apply. The victor would be the last one standing no matter how it was they achieved that and yet there was something almost lowly about watching Xerxes attempt to fight what he believed to be a terribly injured Alexander aboard a very lame horse. Even then, he hardly came at that pair from the front. Rather, he positioned himself to charge from behind. Did he truly fear Alexander that much? That idle comment offered to the hunter then. Alexander seeming blatantly sure the man should fear him. Frost afforded those snapshots of memory in that moment of exactly what had been done to Xerxes the last time. No wonder the men loathed each other so intently.

"I'd like to hear that story one day."

He always had enjoyed tales of war. Alexander surely capable of recalling many even if now was hardly the time. Frost's gaze moving to follow the hunter's own in that moment as they lingered upon the black Barb stallion. Darius having been celebrated several times over as the best war horse that organisation had ever bred and trained. He was a veteran of more battles than any other and even though he was starting to get a little beyond his prime now that stallion was still faster then any Frost had ever seen and easily more fearless than most. He was willing to admit, perhaps, that Darius was exceptional to watch- Xerxes never once appreciating how fine a horse he had been given. Yet, Frost was wholly unwilling to have Alexander appreciate it in any real sense. The thoughts of the Hunter touching his own mind as his ears flickered backward in disdain. For all Darius was- Frost had been designed to be better. That black Barb had been the Alpha amongst those equine too long. Even with that ten years of age separating the pair they had clashed more then once back in Iceland and even here in this city. Frost had been six years old the first time Darius had ever come against him. That older stallion at least sixteen and easily knocking him down. Frost, however, was ill-inclined to forget. Those muscles in his back tensed readily now as if he fully intended to buck- that alone drawing Alexanders attention thoroughly back to himself and away from the other horse. Frost releasing little more than a huff before contenting himself to pretend as if he had done nothing at all.

That comment upon their lacking time seemed to prompt the Hunter to give that command for halt. Frost allowing his hooves to come to a stop amongst that sodden bracken and wet branches, his own gaze lingering on the battle still as Alexander slid from his back. The hand that touched his neck assured him readily of where the man was, Frost appreciating that gesture all the same as the hunter seemed to ready himself. He was mad, as far as Frost was concerned, to step from the tree line and hurl that javelin into the darkness. He was exposing himself to those archers Shepherd had moved to distract as well as wasted his shot. Frost was certain of that. No man could throw a damn spear that far. The equine readying those berating words as Alexander turned before that javelin had even landed to swing back onto his back. Disbelief marking the war horses features. A disbelief that only increased as that weapon found its mark. Xerxes knocked with force from his own mounts back to collide with that muddy earth. Frost turning then to eye the man upon his own spine with a look almost incredulous. That was....impressive.

Those heels pressing to his sides saw the snowy stallion step willingly from those trees, those illusions fading in turn as he kept that slow, measured pace across the field and toward that spasming body on the earth. The scent of blood permeating his sensitive senses even through the rain and mud. That Xerxes death was imminent was surely clear and yet it was no longer the Hunter that held Frost's attention. His own neck arching over as his lips pulled back from his teeth in warning. He could sense the other stallion. That warning to Alexander uttered all the same as that darkness seemed to shimmer- releasing that inky steed from it mere moments later, that agressions surely clear on his frame and yet- that injury was clear in turn. Darius was limping badly now. That wound exacerbated by Xerxes forcing that charge from him. Frost's own ears layered backward, that wet white tail lashing against his sides, that threat clear upon his own lips. They had not come this far to be torn apart by a war horse barely capable of defending himself. Alexander, however, seemed to feel differently. That promise not to kill the other stallion forcing a snort from Frost himself.

Darius, in the least, seemed to waver in just how committed he was to defending his fallen rider. Frost stepped forward only when he was sure the stallion would not attack. Alexander slid from his spine once more then, that promise Xerxes was breathing his last echoing from his lips as he crouched before him now. Frost's own head was lowered to allow his gaze to run over the man whom had caused him so much grief and so much pain. Whatever those Persian words were he hardly knew. He would ask Alexander later. A part of the stallion taking a distinct pleasure in watching that man die.

He hardly anticipated those equally foreign words from Alex's lips or the way the man's hand rested on Xerxes cheek, Frost frowning slightly, before the Hunter's hand pushed aside those layers of wet shirt to reveal that very medallion Xerxes had stolen from him all those years ago. That very object that had brought Alexander and himself together and the Hunter had promised to return to him. Frost watching with clear intrigue as Alexander placed it within his pocket after snapping it from the man's neck. Surely Alexander would not keep it from him. Not after all they had been through. Frost finding he truly believed the man would not betray him in this. The stallion content to keep up that silent vigil as Alexander wrenched that spear from him and rose. That renewed flow of blood prompting a gasp from the dying hunter and yet those movements were becoming weaker with every moment. Frost's own affinity extended almost silently. That chill taking hold of whatever warmth was left in the dying man's veins and ripping it out, that temperature so cold that fine layer of frost was beginning to form upon the man's skin and yet Frost offered only the barest of explanation to just why he felt the need to add to those dying moments.

It is because of him I have no eye.

Xerxes was quickly running out of blood, those dying moments coming suddenly, that final gasping breath uttered before that man was simply still. Frost remaining still for several moments longer before one hoof extended to bump against the dead man. That touch prompting no reaction. Frost exhaling softly as that rain hammered down around them. His head tilted then as the sound of hooves echoed once more. Shepherd and his rider leading back those other three Immortals and horses. None of them, it seemed, inclined to fight for a dead man. Loyalty did not extend that far. Their horses merely looking on with curiosity. Yet it was Darius who moved first. That black stallions ears layering back, his head thrown upward as that good leg struck at the ground, his teeth bared as he offered that clear order in Frost's own direction. The snowy stallions own heavy figure shifted then, one ear turned backward to assure himself Alexander was hardly at any risk of being struck as he turned to face the other horse, his own ears pinned backwards in that once more near silent argument over just who was in charge. The fool only had three legs and yet that had never stopped him before. Darius swung suddenly backward onto his hind legs in that rear upward- as if attempting to prove exactly how fighting fit he was here and now. Frost more than willing to call that bluff as his own forelegs lifted from that earth to meet the other stallion in the air and yet- that argument was decidedly short lived. For all his height, Darius was, for the first time- the smaller horse. The black stallion landed back upon the earth as that now horribly swollen limb threatened to buckle, his head turned away as Frost's own hooves slammed back down. That battle clearly over for now and yet hardly finished between them. Darius, wisely, choosing to forfeit that match for tonight. One of those immortals reaching out now to grasp the Barb stallions bridle and hold him.

"Someone discovered they are not the strongest horse around anymore"

That Alexander had surely understood that brief tussle for dominance hardly prevented Frost's comment all the same. The white war horse shifting back to Alexander's side. His violet gaze cast once more down at Xerxes before lifting to those mounted immortals and injured Darius who stood before them. His words offered to Alexander alone.

What are you going to do with them? They will return to the rest of the mounted unit if you let them go. No doubt to tell them who murdered Xerxes. Whoever the Commander is will find a new rider for Darius although he will be out for at least a week if not two, the tendons in that shoulder are damaged- not just the muscle itself. Even Were-healing will work slowly on that. Either way, we should go before the Council gets here.

He hardly feared the Council in any real sense, rather, he had little desire to deal with those politics tonight. Alexander and himself surely due to be hauled before some disciplinary council for this.

FrosT