Blood spills
And the Boeman drowns himself in it
Brush away the Guards
Let him drown in it

Let the Horsemen come
Dare to take away his love
His gentle little love
Who'd dare not speak his name

- "The Boeman"

What we do for love always takes place beyond good and evil
- Friedrich Nietzsche

He clawed away at the beast. His claws caught on the muscle and fur of the one who had harmed his love. He paid no mind as his hands were buried deep into the flesh of the last one of the Pooka race. He didn't care that his love would probably be so furious at him when he saw how much his friend - his supposed comrade - would be injured, as the Boeman no longer could conceive a vague notion as to why his love would be with the other in camaraderie any longer.

No, his love was no more, only another forgotten snowflake that the Moonlight fell upon. At that thought, the Boeman let the blood fill his mouth when another instinct told him to bare his fangs and imbed them deep, deep into muscles and scratching the bones. The other's knives were like pinpricks, like gentle drops of rain falling against his face. He let insults, curses, and begs for absolution, for mercy, spill into his mind and pool, congealing into the fuel for his anger.

How dare this creature exist, continue to exist when his lover was taken away! Why let this creature continue when there was no more reason to go on?! His jaws clamped down harder, not breaking the bones. The marrow in them was precious and he would save it for his meal. A meal fit for a dying King, he would have, in the honour of his love, his reason for being.

He heard more beings approach and he turned and roared at the bird-being, the star-being, and at the Worker. His mind called them "Guardians" before he felt fury overtake him again. He opened his mouth, jaws letting the flesh between them move. His claws pulled at fur and muscles. He could have sworn that a bone was shattering somewhere close, though not from his bites.

Pain suddenly ripped through his arms, something of metal - a sword - hitting his claws with its broad side. He relinquished the Pooka, panting heavily and trying to ignore the taste of blood in his mouth. His vision swam back from its red state and he saw a faerie, blue, green, and didn't she touch his love she deserved punishment and fierce-looking. He could taste the fear radiating from her, fear for her companions and fear for his love. He was somewhat pleased with that, though it increased his jealousy, drawing him to part his lips to speak.

"Wer hat..." his voice supplied. His throat was hoarse. The faerie stared at him, watching his movements and her hand tightening its grip on her blade. She answered back to him.

"Was?"

The tall Worker - North - looked at him with curiosity. He understood not what they were saying. How precious, the Boeman thought.

"Wer hat Angst vorm schwarzen Mann?"

Who's afraid of the Bogeyman?

The faerie came at him again, her blade ready to pierce through him. The Boeman caught her by the arm in mid-flight and he bared his fangs at her. His love had asked for this one to be spared. The others were still able to become targets for his wrath. North was still a target and-

Where did the Sandman disappear to?

He felt a puff of something land on his back. Prompted, the Boeman turned and gold sand flooded his vision, lulling him into a dream.

It was a happy one, one where he could still feel Jack's lips press against his, those same lips curling into a smile.

It was a happy one...

Right?

Niry-A-Na watched the battle from a distance, amused at the Guardians attempting to sabotage the Bogeyman's revenge. It was a nice distraction to watch and take comfort in. When Pitch Black fell victim to the Dream Sand, Niry-A-Na felt another of his comrades approach, stepping down from their horse.

"Jaya." Jaya-Iti came to stand beside him, the pine needles under her feet crunching beneath her weight.

"Get him. I've subdued and captured Jack Frost for you." Her spirits of conquest and plague rattled through her body when she was able to assert the power over the young Moon Creation. Jaya felt, however, that the Reaper, her dear Niry, had grown too jealous. What was so great about defying Kiran anyway?

"And I thank you." The Reaper strode forward, his steps silent. The Cloak of Night protected him, as it had a young lover once, from sight and it hid him as he changed form.

Jaya watched him as Niry-A-Na approached Jack Frost's body, feeling herself grow anxious. Their horses were growing agitated, especially Niry's.

After all...

She had claimed the young spirit, not the Grim Reaper.

Brown eyes opened and he was cold. Why was there snow upon the ground? He had only just been on the pond with his sister. He looked down at himself and saw that he was wearing some strange, blue short tunic. It clung close at his wrists and his waist, and frost decorated the edges of it. His crook was just inches from his hand.

"Hello, there."

The boy, Jackson, sat up in the snow and he saw a young woman, a black cloak draped across her shoulders. Wasn't this a girl from his village? Then he remembered his girl, Justice.

"Justice? Where-" The girl placed a finger to his lips.

"Let's go, boy. I'm not Justice Yates, by the way, but we need to leave." Jackson sat up in the snow, his eyes squinting against the howling wind that was sweeping snowflakes into his eyes. He saw a bloodied creature that surely came out of a fantasy, an unconscious man in black, and three beings that often were a main part of the stories he told his sister. They were speaking low, so he couldn't understand them. Something about a "pitch".

"Who-" An entire hand came to cover his mouth.

"Do you want to end up like that poor creature?" she hissed softly, pointing at the bloodied figure in the snow, which, Jackson realised, looked like a large rabbit.

"No."

"Follow me." The girl took an end of her cloak and gave it to him to hold. "Hold fast." She stood, beckoning him to stand.

"Why are you helping me, miss? You don't know me," he whispers. He doesn't stand, but he reaches for his crook. She turns.

"Well," she asks smiling, "what's your name?"

Something doesn't seem right with her smile.

"Tell me yours." She falters a bit, her lips twitching a bit at the corners.

She pauses, hesitant, almost unsure.

"Anna Hutchinson." Jackson shakes his head.

"That's not your name. I won't tell you mine." He pulls the cloak out of her grasp, off her body, and tosses it to the snow. Her eyes widen before filling with rage.

"You will tell me your name!" Jackson hears gasps nearby and he sees that Santa Claus, the Tooth Faerie, and the Sandman have turned towards them. The girl's voice alerted them to the interaction between herself and Jackson, and the Faerie came towards them quickly, scooping up Jackson from the snow.

"Jack! You're alive!"

He looked into bright violet eyes, bright gems that were gazing at him in concern and pure happiness. His heart jumped at the sight of the violet tint. Where was his cape, that his mother had worked on so long? He and the Faerie gasped as a blade came by them, the Faerie dodging the sharp metal just barely.

"Not for long," the black-haired girl called up to them. Santa Claus came forward, swords brandished. The girl, this harbinger of Death, blocked it with her scythe and managed to block the golden whips of the Sandman. The Tooth Faerie flew him over to be by the bloody rabbit - Hell, if she was the Tooth Faerie, this had to be the Easter Bunny - and the man in black, who didn't seem as intimidating close up.

Jack felt cold.

And so scared.

Pitch was awoken by a familiar fear.

A terror that he had felt before.

His dream of Jack against him disappeared and let him open his golden eyes. Snow was picking up and the Wind was still mourning, although for a different reason, one he couldn't ascertain. As he lifted his head, Pitch recognised Bunnymund, his fur soaked red in some places and he could see a flash of bone, its covering peeling a bit in the wind.

The terror in the air spiked again. He turned towards it and he felt his heart stop in his chest.

"Jack?"

The boy turned towards him, brown eyes meeting gold.

"... Who are you?"

Jaya pulled an arrow from the quiver on her back. Niry-A-Na was growing tired and soon, he would lose what he had fought to recapture from the Moon.

She pulled her arm back, the strings of her bow taut and strong.

The Wind was fighting her, but her Virgin Arrows, which had never pierced flesh, would find their target.

Their target being Jack Frost's heart.

"Say your name, child." Her whisper was drowned out by the horses, their nieghs of distress growing louder by each beat of her heart.

Pitch pushed himself to his knees, his chest painful.

"Do you not remember me?" The boy shook his head, his hair - brown, Pitch noticed - moving with the motion.

"I'm sorry..." Jack - or not Jack - looked down, guilt sagging his shoulders. He seemed genuinely distressed, frightened, and in desperate need of warmer attire.

"What's your name, if it's not Jack?" Pitch asked, seeing him shiver and pulling his arms from his robe sleeves. He moved to pull it over the boy-

Jaya let her arrow fly.

Niry had slashed through flesh, feathers and sand. Now only the Bogeyman was in his way.

"My name is..."

Devany: Hi, guys. I just wanted to thank those who are reading the series "Lark and Nightingale" and I would just like to ask for reviews. I really would appreciate any feedback and criticism (positive and negative). It would really help me grow as a writer and it could help with the 7th part of the series onward.

Thank you again!

Note: I have more information on the OCs, the Horsemen, on my AO3 version of this story. FFnet doesn't seem as good for posting notes or info, such as those on the quotes or my poetic summaries. Feel free to send questions :)