(no subject)

[It has gotten cold these last few days, and forest and fields lie quietly, sleeping under the harsh frosts that this time of the year brings. There is no movement out, animals preferring to hide out in the burrows until later in the day when the sun has risen... but there is sound, little feet running and harsh breath, and the howling of spectral dogs on the hunt.

And then Muscovy emerges from the woods, hair askew and tears in his eyes, out of breath and scared. He manages to get a little distance away from the trees before the dogs issue from the woods as well - three of them, each of them larger than the boy himself. They chase him over the meadows until he trips on a rock and stumbles, falling flat on his face. He pushes himself back up immediately, ignoring his bloody nose and the scratches on his face and hands in his panic to just keep running, but a look over his shoulder tells him that they have gotten much too close now and after a moment of frozen staring he does the thing that he has put off doing since he came here, fervently telling himself that the General is not with him in this world because then he can't hurt him, surely - and calls upon him.

A cry in his own language to the skies, and then something gathers in the clouds above him as he takes off again, trying to win time in the hopes that his cry will be heard.

Because they have a pact. And then he will just have to hope that frost and cold and snow and ice can do something about the dogs.]