Yorick bent beside him, bringing with him an entirely better aroma of cloves wafting off his clothes, and he watched Nezael expectantly.

“It is like the doe,” Nezael whispered. “When my lord wakes, I’ll have him learn why his magic is leaking out like this. For now…” He pulled the quartz amulet from his neck and held it above the crushed holly. With his free hand, he drew a finger into the dirt to make a glyph around the paw print.

The necklace froze at once, magic threads snagging it still from the glyph. He focused power into it and shushed Yorick when he opened his mouth with an inane question that would be answered shortly.

Nezael blocked everything out but the quartz and the presence of rotting, corrupted magic. The land grew dark and gray around him, leaving only the paw prints obscured with snow, and he was led to a place unseen in the distance. He drew his focus tighter, letting it take away his vision, and magic guided him along the path through the bloodied snow. It weaved in and out of trees until it found the beast’s den in a small cave against a hill. It was deep in the forest, surrounded by brambles and thorns, but also spruces on almost all sides. Secluded.

The magic pushed him into the darkness of the den and lit up around the mangled beast, haloing its head with light. It was hunched over, fur splitting as magic sought to strengthen the bones and muscle within. Nezael looked around the beast, where it had laid the meager food it managed to catch, and his stomach dropped. There were three smaller beasts, emaciated and dead. Their bodies too weak to withstand whatever the magic was doing.

Suddenly, the beast gazed up and Nezael closed the connection. He flew back to himself, to Yorick, and drew in a sudden shuddering breath as his vision returned. The chill prickled its way down his throat, making him cough.

“I saw it,” Nezael whispered as Yorick rubbed his back. “It’s in a cave near a hill—deep in the forest. Where are there hills?”

Yorick’s eyebrows went up. “I know where some are,” he said and helped Nezael to his feet. The magic had left Nezael’s legs weak and he was surprised when he had to hold onto Yorick’s arm for balance. “We can make it before it grows dark. Follow me.”

~

Yorick’s strides were long, carving through the snow with ease, and it was all Nezael could do to keep up. His speed helped, at the very least. Day would quickly turn to dusk and then night would approach if they weren’t careful. If it became too dark and they were still out in the woods? It wouldn’t end well for either of them even with magic.

This deep into the woods, everything was hushed against the fallen snow. There was no sound but their own as they trudged on through into places hardly anyone had tread in years if Nezael had to guess. Pines stood tall with snow covered branches, protecting the ground below it from much of the snowfall, and their trail began to even out as a result. Yorick’s path followed what Nezael had seen with magic and as they drew ever closer, Nezael took Yorick’s arm to slow him down. If the beast was near, Nezael didn’t want to frighten it.

They stopped at a rather large tree and peered around it. There was the shallow cave as Nezael had seen in the vision. Blood stained the snow outside, some of it still twisting with magic, turning into little spikes. Desecrated corpses lay dead and mangled, some whole, others with pieces of their bodies outright missing. Travelers left here to die because of a beast mad with magic. There was nothing Nezael could do for them now. There was shuffling deep in the dark, pained moans and cries, and Nezael drew back against Yorick.

“Plan?” Yorick asked, gripping the axe tight.

“I need to see it,” Nezael said. “Find out why this happened.”

Yorick breathed out. “So, into the den?”

“Yes,” Nezael said slowly, hating the plan as much as Yorick must have. “If we can draw it out, I can bind it.” He mentally turned over the glyph he was thinking of in his head. Not complicated, but he needed time. “I’ll draw the ward on the ground and you lure it over.”

“Understood.”

Before Yorick headed forth, Nezael brought him down for a quick kiss. “For luck,” he said and delighted in the way Yorick smiled before he kissed him back.

Yorick slipped around the tree and Nezael hurried forward to begin the glyph. The dirt was clear, the thick branches crisscrossing overhead preventing the snow from obscuring it, and he held the quartz amulet in the air until it floated, suspended on its magic alone. Yorick delved into the den, bravery keeping his shoulders straight, and before long, a roar rumbled out.

Nezael shot magic into the quartz, making it light up like the sun, and out came threads like spears following his finger. Quickly, he drew one quarter of the glyph and the spears responded in kind on the other sides. It worked just as his lord had showed him and before Nezael could admire his handiwork, Yorick was coming back, sprinting. Nezael pushed magic toward Yorick, gripping him, and yanked him out of the beast’s oncoming swipe. The force sent Yorick flying past Nezael, but he was safe, and Nezael withdrew after him.

The beast was large, wolf-like, but any resemblance to the creature was lost with what magic had done to it. Teeth too long to close its mouth and grown sharpened beyond need, its skin had split along its back to make room for the spine protruding from its skin as rows of spikes, and claws protruded from paws too small to accommodate them. Wherever the skin had split, the fur was matted with blood. Its eyes burned like brimstone, bright and wild, and set a hateful gaze on Nezael.

A beastly cry spilled out of its unhinged jaw, loud enough to shake everything around them. Nezael held his ground and willed the ward to rise. It struggled as the ground trembled from the beast’s oncoming stomps, and just as the beast opened its maw, shadowing Nezael entirely, Yorick gripped him across the chest and lurched backwards.

The beast missed, swallowing nothing but air, and Nezael tightened his hold on the ward even as he and Yorick went tumbling. The edge finally rose, passing through the beast and stopped it in its tracks with a sickening crunch against its bones. The poor thing wailed in pain, thrashing, until the ward only tightened its grip.

“Are you unhurt?” Nezael breathed, trying to quell his racing heart.

Yorick swallowed and nodded. “You shot me into brambles, but I’m fine.”

At least they were both safe and that was what mattered. Nezael stood, indicating for Yorick to stay there, and carefully approached the beast. It whined, blood dripping from the open sores along its back, and Nezael studied the magic.

It was indeed his lord’s. All of it. He frowned. It was wrong. Driving the poor beast mad with pain.

“Well?” Yorick had dared to come closer, out of breath still. “Can you help it?”

“No,” Nezael whispered. “Not with magic in its bones like that. This… this is wrong.” Bile rose in his throat. “It’s manipulating the bones while it’s still alive—this is torture.” His lord must have wanted beasts for his plans. What better way than tempt poor animals who didn’t know better to eat something enchanted with magic such as this? It’d break down their skin and minds from the inside out until the bones broke out of their own will. If his lord could tame such a beast, he’d have more fodder for his army.

The ward audibly cracked. Nezael’s jaw dropped, eyes wide, and Yorick threw himself into Nezael just as the beast lunged. Nezael ripped the magic out of the ward and fashioned it into a shield around them before the jaws came snapping down. The beast rebounded off the magic, blown back toward its den, and gave them room. Yorick hopped to his feet, axe in hand, and the beast came again. Yorick pivoted, leading it away from Nezael, but he needed help. Nezael snatched the quartz amulet from the ground and used it as a focus. He slammed it into the dirt, willing magic to move, and it ruptured the very earth in front of him. The beast’s leg came down in the earth, crunching in half, and it howled in pain as its entire body slumped. Nezael drew the earth tighter, forgone apologies on his lips, and kept it there.

“Strike it!” Nezael shouted.

But the beast yanked its entire leg off. Nezael froze, panicked, and it lunged for Yorick before he was ready. The world went slow as Yorick fell backwards with a misplaced dodge, and the beast descended on him, sharp teeth gleaming. Then, it all sped up, power coursing through Nezael’s body as he drew magic from the air. It froze the beast mid-lunge, its mighty jaw a hair’s breadth away from Yorick’s neck, and Nezael held it as tight as possible.

“Now!” he shouted again. “Strike it now!”

Yorick threw himself back to his feet and the axe’s blade sung through the air as it came down. The spell across the metal kept it going and it cleaved through the poor beast’s neck in one swoop. Nezael only released his magic when the head thumped to the ground, no life left in its brimstone eyes. The blood spilled forth from both sides, a nauseatingly bright red, and Nezael let go of the body entirely. It hit the ground with a rumble and only then did Nezael feel the tears on his cheeks.

His legs folded beneath him and he sank to the earth, unable to draw any real deep breath. They were ragged and panicked, his pulse pounding loud in his ears. The doe had been a docile creature. She hadn’t been like this even at her worst. This mighty beast laid low all because his lord’s magic pulled it apart. And for what? An ignoble death trying to protect its rotting offspring deep in the cave, already succumbed to the same magic. What had his lord hoped to achieve? The questions spun, echoing in Nezael’s head, until Yorick was there, hands pressed to his face to make him look up.

“Nezael?” he whispered, like he’d already repeated it a few times before. “Are you unhurt still?”

Nezael nodded, trying to rid himself of the what ifs. “Yes. Are you? I’m sorry my ward was weak.”

Yorick winced as he helped Nezael up. “I’m fine.”

Nezael’s gaze shot to his shoulder. He hadn’t noticed the blood seeping through the fabric or the gouges deep in the skin underneath. “No, the beast harmed you.” He pushed Yorick’s hand off when he tried to stop him and peered at it closer. No magic he could detect, but grisly all the same.

He let out a relieved breath and rested his forehead against Yorick’s chest. “I think it should be fine until we return to your cabin. No magic got inside it.”

“It hurts like hell, but I’ll live,” Yorick whispered. “I’m alive. You’re alive.” He gently drew a hand through Nezael’s hair.

More tears slipped down Nezael’s cheeks. “It wanted food,” he whispered. “Only magic had already rotted away its offspring. If it’d been weaker, it would have died with them. I just… I don’t know what my lord’s magic was doing beyond carving bone from skin. this… this was monstrous.”

There wasn’t an answer and Nezael had no idea how he’d even ask his lord. He wasn’t even supposed to be outside, let alone this far. Never supposed to question him. He struggled on anything else to say and ceased trying altogether when Yorick kissed his forehead.

“We can come back tomorrow to deal with the bodies,” he said and Nezael nodded against him. “We both need rest.”

The adrenaline had run its course, washing right out of Nezael’s body, and he trembled all the way back to the cabin. Yorick, thankfully, remained as sturdy as ever even though he winced every time he moved the wounded shoulder. They reached his cabin as the sky streaked with the golds and oranges of dusk and Nezael hurried him inside so he could look at the wound.

Not too deep, but needed stitching to keep the skin together. Nezael was glad Isabella had shown him how to do so numerous times, insisting she wanted him to be prepared for anything. It wasn’t like Carrow had shown Nezael how to heal with magic yet.

Nezael had Yorick sit in his kitchen as he maneuvered around to find herbs to use, water to wash out the wound, and a needle and thread to tie it all back together. The wound washed out quickly, magic making it faster, and as it worked, Nezael made a paste from the herbs. His hands were gentle and quick, the stitching as neat as he could make it, and he left kisses after each one. Then went on the poultice, pressed against the wound with a strip of cloth to hold it there.

Once that was taken care of, Nezael checked the rest of Yorick. Bruises colored his skin, but nothing as serious as the shoulder. Good. As Nezael attempted to go to the sink to wash the rags he’d used for cleaning, Yorick drew him suddenly close until he was practically straddling Yorick’s lap.

“Thank you,” Yorick said into Nezael’s neck. He kissed it gently and Nezael drew his fingers through Yorick’s hair soothingly. “If you hadn’t helped, I don’t think I would have been able to do it.”

Nezael distantly realized Yorick would have died on his own and the thought made him cold.