Alexander Macedonia

when I walk into the room there's nothing you can do
To stop me from making moves
I'm coming for you

How that wind and rain so cut through Alexander's clothing, nipping at his flesh till a shiver ran down his spine. It blurred his vision, causing the King to draw closer towards his steed's mane even at the risk of missing those vast plains that spread out beneath them like an emerald sea. For once, the Macedonian was hardly enticed with testing the limits of all they could accomplish. His shoulder ached, he was cold, and half convinced the skies would strike them down with lightning any moment for daring to tread where even Icarus had once fallen. His thoughts so surely betrayed his lack of enthusiasm at that suggestion, the very utilization of Frost's name one Alexander hadn't entirely realized he'd uttered until the steed pointed it out. A soft huff left his lips, even as Frost drifted lower and lower towards the grasslands that stretched out beneath them. 'Now is not the time.' His thoughts nearly mumbled in retort. They would have a hard enough time explaining the GPS suddenly jumping on the other side of the mountain, to watch their little dot speed suddenly across the lands in a way a horse surely could not would hardly go overlooked. The last thing he wished was to be disqualified from winning because they'd thought he'd caught a ride with one of the locals.

Even despite his blatant unwillingness to test the limits of Frost's newfound ability, Alexander was hardly aware of just how much this changed things. The battlefield had so drastically expanded and with it would come a need to adapt. Frost's tact would need to change, so too would those commands he had used for over two millenniums. Those silent demands simply failed to take into consideration the vastness of the sky. Alexander, it seemed, was hardly the only one to consider all the work that would surely need to be done in their future. Despite the joy he might take in such a challenge, his first in centuries, the Dark Hunter offered his steed little more than a soft grunt in response to Frost's very mention of that communication they would need to practice one the race had been completed. As easy as it might have been to lose himself in such a conundrum, doing so in the middle of the sky during a storm some hundred feet in the air hardly seemed to be an ideal place for such contemplations. His discomfort, it seemed, was made strikingly clear as Frost began to dip lower and lower, the wind still tearing past him with his rapid descent.

Slowly, but surely, he could feel Frost's weight shifting beneath him, those appendages reaching out to catch the air as the currents around them shifted. It was almost abrupt, the way the stallion's wings caught the wind, slowing them down with a jolt that caused a soft groan of pain upon his lips as he grimaced. The landing was no less rough, Frost's front hooves near crashing back onto the ground as the pair finally found themselves again on...sopping...wet...muddy...land. A soft sound left his lips as Alex momentarily released the reins, his hand shifting to his wounded shoulder. Although he was aware of that backward swivel to Frost's ears in a vague hint of concern, the Dark Hunter said nothing of it. What he wasn't prepared for, however, was the sudden movement of the steed beneath him. Immediately Alexander reached for the bridle as Frost offered him some vague explanation of a mare deep within the forested spit of land in the distance. How those equine instincts so threatened to overcome his stallion...and how Alexander so refused to allow it. That sharp tug of those reins so quickly brought Frost back to the present moment, that soft snort of air through the steed's nasals reassured him of such even as Alexander insisted they hardly needed to waste their time on a single mare when there was a race to be won. They had lost valuable time in the depths of that valley, time they would need to make up if he had any chance of catching up with Khan.

That moment of distraction, however, was all that was necessary for those ivory wings to fade from existence, even as the Dark Hunter pressed his heels against Frost's side. The stallion easily broke out into a trot, the pair once again finally back in that race and yet, it still left Alexander with a hint of restlessness. It was hardly unfamiliar, that feeling. It was one that used to assault him before each battle even if he tried to exude patience and certainty. He was almost thankful for that distraction of Frost's wings, even as he assured the stallion that, one day, they would merely come whenever he called rather than when his very life was at jeopardy. The matter of the GPS was easily brushed aside by the Dark Hunter, the Macedonian certain that there was little they could do regarding the device now, even if he too could hardly help that nagging concern of what the race officials would believe about their sudden...relocation, of sorts. A soft breath left Alexander's lips as Frost suddenly announced he blamed Matteo of all people. He could hardly help the indignant snort that left his nose at that description Matteo had afforded himself. "His powers do not extend to technology, I'm afraid." It was however, that question of why he had chosen the fae over all others that truly caused Alexander to pause, even as his steed presented him with an almost dubious glance.

It was true, the Frenchman was hardly the sort of son one might have anticipated to follow within the footsteps of Alexander 'the Great', as the world had taken to calling him. Matteo...lacked ambition, he drank obsessively, was far more interested in his exploits in the bedroom then the battlefield, was prone to his own egotism, and tended to skirt any type of work he was given. And yet, in spite of all of that, Alexander had still chosen him. "Matteo does not have the heart of a warrior....but he does have the heart of a King - in his own way. Not that I intend to let him off the hook for letting us fall down a mountain." He grumbled, as he glanced towards the watch on his wrist. The Dark Hunter was quick to remind his steed of just how little time they had before the pair would be forced to camp, if they so intended to abide by the rules of the race. The very mention of it caused Frost's pace to increase, though the heavy thud of his hooves was still lost beneath the sound of the storm that surrounded him and the earth that threatened to consume them. The heat that so embraced them was the only blessing, as far as Alexander was concerned.

The darkness became all the more impenetrable as the day wore into the night, the cloud above had all but shut out the sun, and so too showed no sign of stopping. The next base camp was hardly within their reach and yet...the plains offered distinctly little shelter from the wind and the rain. Not even a yurt was within sight. He spotted the large boulder lurking in the darkness not long after Frost changed course towards it, Alexander more than keen to take advantage of what little cover it might provide them, even if he was certain it would hardly make the evening any more comfortable. The Dark Hunter slowly swung from his position upon Frost's back, his shoulder no longer hurting as much as it once did and yet, it was still sore. He turned back towards his steed, pulling the bridle from it's position within Frost's mouth, his bag off of the saddle and, finally, pulling it off the Draft's spine. Alexander hardly wasted any time in pulling the tent out of his bag, unrolling it only to stake one end firmly down into the sodden ground. The tent, however, hardly wanted to remain there. Every moment he moved to see to the few poles that held the thing up, the tarp was all but determined to go flapping in the wind and the rain.

It was Frost's thoughts invading his mind that prompted a scowl upon his features, the Dark Hunter all but tossing the bag of poles within Frost's direction, all the while knowing it'd hardly damage the stallion in the slightest. IT was some fifteen minutes later that the rain finally seemed to cease - the wind forever remaining a problem and yet, Alexander was grateful that at least the rain wasn't in his eyes to further make the task of putting together the tent's support all the more difficult. He was hardly oblivious, even without glancing up, that the sudden lack of rain was the work of his stallion. After all, the sky itself had hardly ceased in the slightest and Frost, he knew, was unlikely to want his 'good deed' acknowledged. The steed forever seeming to disdain that hint of concern and care the Macedonian had somehow fostered within him.

With Frost's help, setting up that tent was far less...irksome then it was before. Alexander had successfully managed to unzip the door, tossing within his bag in an effort to keep the contents from getting too wet. He was only just about to crawl into the relative dryness of it when Frost's thoughts reverberating within his mind caused him to pause. A soft breath left the Dark Hunter's lips, the man desiring little more than reprieve from that rain and yet...never a day had gone by in which he saw to his own passing fancies before that of his horse's. Without so much as a word, the Monarch rifled through his bag, pulling out from its depths the bright blue raincoat. He flicked it open, stepping back into the rain to fasten it deftly around Frost's body.

His fingers moved expertly, the whole process far faster now that Frost chose to remain still, unlike any time he had tried before. Alexander fastened the hood gingerly around the steed's nape. "Good?" He inquired, waiting only for that confirmation before finally crawled into the relative dryness of his tent. A soft sigh of near contentment left his lips as Alexander stripped his wet clothes off, hanging them on the hooks within the tent to dry in the morning. He climbed into the comfortable warmth of his lined sleeping bag, only to inspect his shoulder with a slight hint of a frown. By morning, there would be but a trace of the wound he'd taken from Frost. Alexander was content to take his time finding some level of comfort before the Dark Hunter dug through his bag for a small black bag and a silver thermos. At the very least, he was glad Matteo had foreseen a need to this. The water in the thermos was still warm to the touch, the heat from it mixing with the dehydrated food into a medley that even made Alexander's stomach grumble. He had only just begun to nibble upon it when the sound of his tent's zipper drew his attention, the damp white of Frost's nose sticking into the bottom of the tent. "Roasted sweet potatoes...kale and quinoa...and beef jerky. There's garlic green beans with cashew stir fry and....some...pilaf thing, if you want one." He commented, glancing over to the last two trail meals he had packed.