"I can't breathe-"

Manon Blackbeak came to consciousness in a rush so intense she momentarily lost all sense of reality. A strangled gasp came out of her, immediately followed by a cough. She twisted on her side, puking out what seemed buckets of blue blood as she tried to gather her bearings. It was dark and rain fell in sheets. A dark haze also covered the ground, and after trying to wipe her face on some part of her clothing that was not wet or dirty she could finally tell where she was.

The memories assaulted her first, the battle with the ilken, the subsequent appearance of four Yellowlegs covens, two of Erawan's dark Princes…it had been a complete disaster and it was clear that their small army was not ready for such an attack, especially so when they had been traveling for days in bad weather.

The witch groaned when she tried to move and a hand to her thigh had her huffing. An arrow was embed deep into her leg, past her armor and leather. She had no doubt it was barbed at the tip, to make it more painful when it came out. Manon closed her eyes if only to give her head some time to concentrate, to calm down and formulate a plan.

Through the murkiness in her brain, she could still hear sounds of battle, screeching of ilken and wyvern alike, swishes and booms of magic. She was not safe here. She had to move now.

A soft whine caught her attention and the only reason she perceived it was because she recognized it.

"Abraxos…"

The wyvern heard her and she caught the whooshing sounds of his wings, as if he was trying to get up. To get to her. Another whine broke through, this one a little louder.

Since she didn't know the extent of his injuries she was quick to call him out. "Don't move," she bit, fighting against the pain in her leg. "I'll go to you."

A mistake, but she'd had worse. Something snapped as she sat up and her moan rode all the way to Abraxos, who she heard whimper in return. The witch placed a hand to her abdomen, but there was no blood or wound there. A broken rib then-or ribs, she wasn't sure. Hopefully, it would not pierce a lung.

She glanced around, noting the indent on the downed tree trunk next to her. It was clear now how she fell unconscious, considering her body fit right into the indent. Using the same log as support, Manon used her right hand to get to her feet. The pain flashed like hot iron fresh out of the fire, despite the fact that her breath came out in short clouds in front of her. But it didn't matter. She was upright.

Trying to avoid using her left leg, Manon limped toward her wyvern, the sound coming from a creek a few feet from where she'd crashed into. His head bobbed in obvious relief when he saw her and she stumbled into his neck in both an effort to remain standing and to touch him. "Not even a blast of dark magic can take us out," she muttered.

But Abraxos wasn't paying attention to her, even though his bloodied tail wound around her legs. Manon followed his gaze, suddenly feeling the temperature shift. It was getting colder. Which made no sense since there was still sometime before winter-

A cry pierced the air, a mix between a cackle and a screech. It burst through Manon's eardrum's, making her forget her pain and relief at seeing Abraxos. She palmed her body, three daggers were left on her form, Wing Cleaver was missing from its holster. With a cringe, she glanced at the arrow still protruding out of her upper thigh.

"Stay here," she ordered the wyvern and with the wounds she could see in the dark covering his form, he had no choice but to obey. Abraxos didn't whine, knowing they had to keep quiet, but his large head did nudge at her hand. "I'll be back for you," she whispered, "I promise." She didn't care if he understood, but her wyvern licked at her arm before uncoiling his tail.

Slowly, Manon limped toward the source of the unnatural sound, keeping as low to the ground as she could and palming one of her daggers with her right hand.

A scream shook the ground beneath her and a blast of magic followed it, making her cling to a tree to avoid being blasted back. The tips of her fingers went numb in the cold, but her attention was fixed in front of her.

She recognized the scream.

Ignoring the pain, Manon burst through the brush, laying her eyes on a small clearing of trees, all laying with their roots out against the tree line. She could recognize the Valg Prince from afar, noting the golden hair and dark collar on his neck. In front of it was Dorian, laying on his knees, his head in his hands.

A growl rippled deep in her throat as she noticed exactly what was happening, knew what the Valg Prince was capable off.

Another scream pealed out of Dorian and he lowered his head further into the ground. Bowing, the Valg monster was making him bow before it.

Manon's pain banished as she placed pressure on her hurt leg and ran into the clearing. The Prince turned to her immediately, but there were shadows under his eyes and his pale face was gaunt with effort. His gold eyes still narrowed at her, but the vision he sent was swatted away by her own pair. He realized too late that he was as good as dead, and Manon wasted no time as she tackled him with all of her immortal strength.

A freezing wind swept through them as the Prince released Dorian, but the Valg couldn't stop her as she struck her dagger into his neck, spraying black blood onto the muddy ground, and repeating the process until she was sure the abomination was as lifeless as the ground beneath it.

Manon breathed heavily while she dropped the bloody dagger, her other hand going for the arrow still in her thigh, not to pull it out, but to stop the pounding she felt coursing through it. But another sound mixed in with her own panting. She half-crawled half-walked toward the King of Adarlan, not caring that her hands were tainted in black blood as she made him lie on his back.

Dorian was gasping for air, his dirty fingers ripping into his throat as his wide blue eyes staring crazily into the sky, the whites fully visible and looking like they were coming out of his sockets. "It's okay," she told him, stilling his head. "You're fine now."

His hands closed around her wrists and his eyes turned to her, first in fear, then surprise, and finally recognition. But he shook his head and his whole body trembled. "I can't breathe," he gasped, "I cant-"

"Look at me," she ordered, but her own voice cracked. "Look at me," she said again. He was terrified, but his gaze held steady. "Concentrate on my voice."

"Just take a breath," she added. "Slowly." The grip on her wrists tightened, but he did take in a breath. "Now, just breathe…you're okay, I promise, just breathe." The witch repeated the words a few times, counting down his inhales and exhales until the cold around them died down and his body finally stopped quivering.

The King sat up in a rush once he recovered, his hands still holding her own. "I went looking for you," he admitted, "I needed to make sure you were alright."

It was no time to berate him, but she still sent him a frown. "I'm alright," she muttered, "we both are."

He blinked and she wondered if the silver in his eyes was due to the rainwater. "Abraxos?" He rasped.

"He's fine too."

The King let out a tear-jerking sigh as he released her hands and took her against him. "Thank the gods," he sputtered and Manon patted his back.

"That hurts," she told him, after the hug went on for longer than she felt it was safe. They were still in the battlefield and they had to find a way to get back to safety.

"What? I'm sorry. Oh gods-you're hurt."

"We both know I've had worse."

"We need a healer."

"What we need is to move."

"Right. May I help you up?"

She nodded and he slowly got them both back on their feet, placing her arm around his shoulders in order for her to not lay weight on her leg. "Abraxos?"

"That way," she pointed.

And so they went.

From now on, I'll try to post more consistently on these drabbles so that I can catch up to what I have already written.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter!