He watched her hair in the wind, and saw blood fly through it. His own body did not feel familiar, so mad was the battle fury within it. Each muscle moved of its own accord. Each blade of fur bristled and rocked with the motion of the hellish creature under his body. After an eternity he watched her pull ahead and finally gave into reason, forcing his horse to a sharp turn and fighting with him back the whole way. Viggo’s cries of outrage out rang those of the Aquila, who could do nothing to calm the stallion but hold on and scream for reason.
It took an age before he gained control, and this was with a fist of steel. Blood poured from the wound on his chest and leaked from the gash in the his leg. His hair was wild and gave no illusions to the madness inherit in his face. He rode back and saw with grim pleasure that the blonde girl, Emma, held within her hands the head of an enemy. In the distance another shape, more familiar, hailed them. Ezekiel slowed the horse and offered a hand to the scout. “Get on,” he ordered. Blood, and not all of it her own, overwhelmed his senses.
“You too,” he called to Alma. Viggo could carry them all in the state he was in.
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