Rhoam stomped on a hoof. The ground split in a hairline crack, while glowing faint orange as if it remembered Iron holt's fires.
Darius stepped back, wiping his brow with the back of his gauntlet. "That is it and next time that you will charge, you will carry more than steel.
You will carry ghosts." His lips twisted into something close to a grin. "And they will run screaming from you, not the other way around."
Rhoam lowered his massive head, pressing briefly against his tamer's shoulder. Darius froze, then gave the beast a solid thump back, with metal clanging on the armor.
By the time the work was done, the night had fallen and maybe the Hollow had simply smothered the day.
Either way, darkness stretched around them, which was broken only by the fire they lit between the stones.
The Crest sat together, with weapons at their sides, the silence was thick but not empty. They did not need to speak, each knew what the other carried.
