A recollection of the first meeting between Raider of the Veil and Viper of the Vale. The sky was bruised with the color of dusk, the highlands whispering with the breath of the oncoming night. Mist clung to the hollows, and the grass, heavy with dew, bent low beneath their passing. Raider walked ahead, his hooves soundless on the earth, a creature shaped of silence. Behind him trailed Viper, light of foot, bright of heart, her laughter a glint of music in the twilight. “Tell me again,” she said, her tone half playful, half pleading, “how you found me that first night. You never tell it the same way twice.” Raider cast her a glance, one brow arched, his voice a low murmur. “Because you always interrupt before the best part.” “I only interrupt when you make yourself sound too noble,” she countered, flicking her tail at his flank. “A lone warrior, brooding over berry fields. I still don’t believe that part.” A faint smile touched the stallion’s lips, quick, elusive, like the shadow of wings over still water. “Believe what you will, little wind,” he said. “But it began as I’ve told you before; a cool morning, the world quiet save for the sound of crickets and my own thoughts. I had gone to the northern highlands where the berry brambles grow thick along the stone. They weren’t mine, not truly, but I was fond of them. One grows protective of what feeds him.” He slowed, his gaze distant, as though seeing the scene unfold in the mind’s dark glass. “The fields had been torn apart,” he continued softly. “Berries crushed under claw, branches broken clean through. I followed the trail, strange marks, half bird, half cat. I thought, perhaps, a griffin strayed from the mountains.” Viper’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “And instead you found a trembling little mare with her hoof caught in the roots of a tree?” Raider huffed, a rare sound that might almost have been a laugh. “You forget, I hadn’t found you yet. I was following the scent of blood, not perfume.” “Oh, so I smelled awful too?” she teased. He gave her a sidelong look. “You smelled of fear and iron. And rain. I thought you were dying.” Her smile softened, and she stepped closer until their shoulders brushed. “And yet, you came.” Raider’s eyes glinted with dry humor, the faintest curl at the corner of his mouth. “I came,” he said, “because I’d just realized there were two intruders trampling about my berry fields. One with claws, and one with an overinflated sense of curiosity.” Viper laughed under her breath. “So you mistook me for a thief?” “I thought you both thieves,” he admitted, a low rumble in his chest. “But one was feathered.” He drew a slow breath, the sound of the highland wind filling the pause between them. “The trail led me through the reeds, past the stones where the lake meets the woods. There the scent split, wild musk and iron. I followed it until I saw you, caught in the thornroots, while a young griffin circled you like a hawk testing its courage.” Viper’s ears flicked back, half embarrassed, half amused. “It wasn’t that close.” Raider smirked. “Close enough that its shadow crossed your throat.” He continued, voice quiet but edged with memory. “It was no full grown terror of the mountains, but a juvenile, barely past fledgling. A falcon’s shape twisted into a hunter’s dream. Its feathers were pale tawny, its wings streaked with silver and brown. Its beak, red, though I could not tell if from plumage, blood, or my own berries. I only knew it did not belong there.” The stallion’s gaze darkened, far away again. “Strength, rage, or something else, I don’t know what took me. I reared and struck the ground, hooves splitting the wet earth. The creature hissed and swatted its talons, unsure whether to fight or flee. I did not want to kill it. I knew what it was, too small yet to bear its crown of death. Perhaps I wanted to see what it would become when grown… or perhaps I pitied it.” He lowered his head slightly, horns catching the fading light like drawn blades. “So I challenged it. Horn to beak, hoof to claw. It shrieked and flared its wings, the air snapping like torn silk, before it bounded back and took to the air in a storm of feathers. Its flight was clumsy, but the courage was real.” Viper watched him, eyes bright with the wind’s shimmer. “And that’s when you looked at me?” Raider turned his gaze toward her, the ghost of a smile haunting his face. “No. That’s when I decided the berries weren’t worth the trouble.” She laughed, light and musical, but he went on, softer now, "Only when I turned to leave did I hear your voice. Small, caught like breath in the thorns…” Her laughter faded, replaced by the hush of memory between them. “I remember,” she whispered. “The thorns were everywhere, like the earth itself had tried to swallow me.” Raider’s gaze drifted forward, his voice lowering until it brushed the edges of the wind. “When I turned, you were tangled in the roots of an old hawthorn, its branches thick as stone. You were crying, softly, as though afraid even your voice might draw the creature back. Tears streaked your face, catching the faint light like dew on glass. Between your breaths you gasped your thank yous, half to me, half to whatever gods you thought might be listening.” He drew in a quiet breath, eyes unfocused as if the past were walking beside him once more. “I said nothing,” he went on. “Words felt wrong then. So I came closer, careful, so you wouldn’t startle. You thrashed once, but your hind leg was caught deep under a lattice of vines and roots. I stood over you and said, ‘May I?’” Viper smiled faintly, eyes downcast. “And I nodded. I remember thinking you were the strangest shadow I’d ever seen, horns and all.” Raider’s mouth twitched, though his tone remained even. “Then I began the work. I struck at the thickest roots with my forehooves, sharp blows to loosen them. The ground gave little, but I could smell the torn sap. When my hooves failed, I used my teeth, biting through vines slick with mud until the hole widened enough for you to move.” He paused, his gaze softening with some half-forgotten tenderness. “You tried to stand before you were ready,” he murmured. “And fell against me.” “I said I was fine,” Viper added quickly, though her eyes gleamed with mischief now. “Even as I could barely breathe.” “You nearly took us both down the hill,” Raider replied, deadpan. “I still have the scar on my shoulder.” Viper’s laughter returned, warm and unguarded. “You make it sound noble again.” “I make it sound true,” he said, though a quiet smile ghosted across his face. For a moment they walked on in silence again, the kind that hums with things left unsaid. The moon hung low over the highlands, silvering the edges of their manes. “It was then,” Raider said softly, almost to himself, “that I realized how small the world had felt until that night. And how wide it became, the moment you spoke my name.” Her laughter faded, replaced by the hush of memory between them. The path wound upward through the sleeping hills, the air crisp with the scent of nightflowers and rain. The two of them moved in steady rhythm, hoofbeats, breath, and the whisper of grass beneath their steps. After a time, Viper broke the silence. “You know,” she said, glancing sideways at him, “you tell it well. All of it. You’ve the voice of a grand storyteller, Raider.” He huffed, though a faint smile curved his mouth. “A storyteller? I prefer blades to words.” “Then you should perfect your stories by a fire,” she teased, “so you can stab us all with your tragic endings.” That drew a small laugh from him, a deep, rough sound rare as thunder on a calm day. They walked on a while longer, the moon dimming as clouds rolled over it. When the silence stretched too far, Viper’s voice rose again, softer this time. “Tell me a ballad, then. Or a marching verse, to keep my muscles from stiffening. Something for the road.” Raider gave a low snort. “You ask much of a creature who barely speaks.” “But you think like a poet,” she replied simply. “I can tell.” He said nothing for a while. The sound of the wind filled the spaces between them, carrying the smell of distant pine and damp stone. Then, almost under his breath, he began—his voice low and rhythmic, as though recalling something ancient: “Into the ray of the dawn, marches the hunter of shadow and thorn. Hooves like thunder, heart of flame, Nameless soul, bound by blame. Ride for the gain of his power, through frost and blood and briar’s flower. Foes may gather, beasts may roar, yet none bar his war. The blade runs where silence sleeps, the watch he swore, the vow he keeps. When daybreak burns and night is slain, the shadow walks the world again. Into the vale where the dark winds weep, the shadow hunts where terrors creep. Claw and fang, the beast’s foul breath, he dances close with holy death. Through smoke and storm his courage bled, by horn and hoof the beast lay dead. Yet ‘midst the ruin, calm and rare, he found the fair and pallid mare. Her mane like dawn, her breath like prayer, the healer, mystic, wind-born mare. She touched his brow, her voice a gleam, a blessing given, soft as dream. Into the ray of the dawn, marches the hunter of shadow and thorn. Hooves like thunder, heart of flame, Nameless soul, bound by blame. Ride for the gain of his power, through frost and blood and briar’s flower. Foes may gather, beasts may roar, yet none bar his war.” His voice faded into the hush of the highlands, the words falling behind them like footprints on wet soil. Viper smiled, her tone light but her eyes shining. “See? A poet and a salamander.” Raider gave a sideways glance. “And you,” he said, “a storm trapped in a teacup.” She laughed softly, the sound bright against the still air. “That’s not a true story, though,” she teased. “You made yourself far too heroic.” He shrugged, his expression unreadable but for the faintest quirk of amusement. “You asked for a ballad,” he said. “Not a detailed eyewitness account.” Viper’s laughter lingered, soft and airy, as they continued their climb. The moon rode higher, pale light spilling across the ridge path ahead. Raider walked in silence now, his thoughts turned inward, while beside him Viper’s voice hummed the faint melody of his verse. For a time, that was enough, her spirit bright as the wind, his calm as steady as the earth beneath their hooves. two travelers bound by story and shadow, pressing onward into the night.