anyone with common sense would come for such a mission adequately prepared -- weapons, perhaps bandages if they foresaw such events. maddox brings some of the latter, a last-minute decision slung in a bag around moosely’s neck. he brings only a hunting dagger, and trusts his element to provide him with what he needs.

the moose lowers his head in some semblance of a greeting, just as maddox grumbles something that sounds like, “i don’t like mountains.” more coherently, he says, “any idea what sort of monsters we’ll find?”

he has come across monsters briefly, once, during their eventful trip into the forest pursuing the red light. the wild dogs, for one, and the chimera that had been bigger than even moosely. he has heard them in the bush as he takes moosely out for runs on the outskirts, but those rarely ever see the light of day, which is both a blessing and a curse -- it leaves the imagination to run wild, spinning gargantuan beasts out of shadows and dead leaves. today, it seems, will see such creatures in the flesh before him. he’s not sure if he likes the idea or not, but the fact that he is already here leaves him little choice but to proceed.

moosely does not give him time to think. with a snort, the familiar bounds forward, hooves finding purchase on the rocky ground.

‘you’re a useless air witch, you know. can’t even fly your own damn way up a mountain.’

‘oh, shut up.’

“i hear ya,” he says, and there’s a mild grimace in his tone as he recalls the battle. he hadn’t come into direct conflict with them, having only briefly faced off with the creatures, but he doesn’t envy sirius for the entire incident.

moosely continues his upward journey, slipping occasionally on loose rocks but continuing onwards with dogged determination. maddox is, frankly, not sure if moose as a general species were the climbing sort ( and if moosely knew, the familiar simply did not care ). there is a twinge of something between admiration and jealousy as a flicker of light coalesces into gossamer wings, and moosely gives him a pointed harrumph, a noise coarse and rough against his consciousness.

“that’s pretty cool,” he ends up commenting, and despite himself it comes out surprisingly sincere. he might have said more, might have let his mouth run on before his brain can compute anything more sensible to say, if moosely had not stopped abruptly in his tracks. it is only practice and some less than fortunate experiences that keep the familiar’s antlers from jabbing the witch in the gut.

a rustle of leaves, a snap of a twig underfoot. a growl rolls out, a sound low and distorted amidst the twilight silence. one set of eyes glitter crimson -- then one set stretches into two, bodies yet shrouded in darkness. an axe flickers into existence in maddox’s hand, the curve of its blade glinting wickedly sharp. “i’ll take left and you take right?”

there is no warning. one blink, the monsters are crouched in the bushes. the next; they pounce.

for a moment the beasts hang motionless midair, outlined in the fading light, and he gets a good long look at the monsters before gravity takes hold once more and they descend. beside him, the world begins to burn afire, until his vision dances cornflower blue. whatever skill the fire elementalist is using, it is truly a sight to behold.

the monster comes down with its claws outstretched and moosely side-steps just in time; maddox feels the rush of wind as it lands and spins around for another swipe, and this is when moosely pivots and charges. three steps in and there is enough momentum for him to swing, the axe curving a perfect arc before it crashes into the chimera with brute, bloody force. crimson droplets trail behind the blade.

it echoes the screech of its companion, a howl in pain abruptly aborted as maddox swings around to hurl a fierce gale at it, the winds screaming a challenge as they knock the beast off its feet. he fights loud and unapologetic, and in the flickering shadows cast by the flames a grin glints bone-bright.

had they any element of surprise when initially entering the mountain range, surely, they have lost it now.

visibility is a fickle thing -- the shadows dance wildly, stretch long and misshapen -- violet violence and a turquoise wildfire. he sees nothing but the crimson eyes of the chimera he hunts, feels nothing but the weight of the weapon in his hand, hears nothing but the crackle of fire beside him.

the monster hauls itself back up onto its feet and charges, a roar ripping out of its throat. he grips the axe a little tighter and gathers himself; leaps like he’s throwing himself off a cliff, like he’s saying- yeah, i’ve got monsters too, let’s pull them out and play-

the axe connects, the blade embedded in the muscle behind its neck but it doesn’t die just yet. it shrieks more, enraged, twisting around in impossible angles to claw at him. he digs in with his heels, hauls his weight against the axe, braces for impact because, honestly, he’s closer than any intelligent fighter would safely place themselves.

it ends as abruptly as it started. in a clatter of sharp hooves against stone, moosely rears up, dark eyes glittering. he delivers two stunningly accurate kicks -- the first effectively pushes the chimera off the axe, and it snarls in indignation; the second sends it skidding off the edge of the mountain. maddox hears a crack, and then, silence. the axe dissipates back into mere air.

‘are you injured?’

“me? right, uh,” a pause as he takes brief inventory. all limbs are intact. good enough. “i’m fine.” the tranquility of the evening feels odd, somehow, after the brief fight. he clears his throat, wipes off some blood on the hem of his shirt. mirrors his partner’s quick scan and asks, “what about you?”

somehow, he thinks, he doesn’t trust sirius’ definition of ‘fine’, but his partner does not seem to be in too much pain, nor can he see any visible wounds. it will have to do.

( he does not know how much room he has to speak: pain is somewhat of a familiar occupational hazard, and being raised in such an environment does wonders for one’s pain threshold; as does a rush of adrenaline, the feeling of which he is well acquainted with. )

“sounds like a good idea,” he concedes, and directs his gaze to the path that lay ahead, once more dark in the absence of fire. the sky is even darker now, and despite the fact that there is no true blindness in the light of clear sky above, the moon and stars don’t quite provide enough light for him to see by, especially not when his opponents are creatures well-adapted to the dusky mountain range.

he motions moosely closer with a vague wave of the hand, and the moose begrudgingly moves a few inches closer. hauling himself up requires a little more effort this time, grip slippery with blood and sweat alike, but he does it anyway. “the path here is a little too narrow,” he says, and casts a quick glance to where the chimera’s body had fallen. “if it flattens out anywhere, we could take a better stand there if need be.”

“best bet is probably to try and get to the mines without further interruptions, though. think we could make it if we run?” he pauses, considers, and turns around to pat moosely’s back. “moosely could carry two easily, if you want.”

he nods in acknowledgement, just as moosely lets out a derisive snort and stamps a foot, sending small pebbles skittering. “that’s probably smart,” he agrees. his familiar turns around to regard him with a single baleful eye, as if to say, how dare you just presume-

( moosely doesn’t really have to say anything. past experience has provided maddox with a generous enough compendium of the moose’s colourful vocabulary that his imagination and memory alike will suffice. )

instead, he watches sirius fly off, admiration soft in his gaze. then belatedly, a murmured observation: “he’s very polite, isn’t he. it’s kind of endearing. unlike some.”

‘oh, please. if you’re complaining about me, then you know you don’t deserve any of my effort playing nice.’

a pause. “those wings are pretty cool, huh.” moosely shifts a little, takes a few steps forward, and stops once more. a mild flash of alarm comes from the familiar -- he attributes it to the fact that, for once, moosely is letting him sidestep a conversation topic.

‘you insufferable idiot, we have bigger problems-’

“what, the fact that i don’t have wings? because that is a problem-”

‘no, you fuckwit, look.’

he peels his gaze away from the skies and he looks. he sees. then a set of claws sink into his leg and drags him right off the moose, unceremonious and to his dismay. it is somewhat fortunate that he is a resourceful brawler -- he reaches wildly, avoiding moosely’s flailing hooves, and his fingers close around a rock. lifts it, snarls in defiance, and brings it crashing down onto the beast’s head.

it lets out a strangled whine, relinquishing its grip immediately and skittering backwards. the pain hits immediately, lancing up his leg as he stands. from what he can tell -- and that in itself is a difficult feat, since these creatures seem half the size of the previous ones ( he wonders if that in itself could be considered small ). they move terrifyingly fast; flashes of darkness given form, with needle-sharp teeth and razor claws. he counts as they dart back and forth: two, three, four, five even if his eyes do not deceive him.

he inhales sharply, turns his gaze heavensward for the briefest of moments to see an empty sky, then gets to work. snaps his fingers and the wind once more howls into action, a gale tearing through the space before him. moosely brings up a wall of wind, bracing against the impact as the creatures slam into the invisible shield.