[P] I'll cool your fever till the doctor comes;

[Acton]

Acton Not yet corpses. Still, we rot.   Poor man was in for a long night. Savage and hot leaped the blood in Acton’s veins as the antler stallion responded, as his chin lifted, proud. Let him fight, thought Acton, the closest to a prayer he ever came. Let’s make this fun. But as soon as Reichenbach’s hooves came down he knew there would only be one of them shedding blood tonight. The thwack of hooves meeting skull was a startling sound in the otherwise still night, the world muffled by snowfall. Blood bloomed where contact had been made. It was hard to follow, then, but he thought one of the stallion’s antler tines might have snapped, too. It was enough of a signal. Acton went in with his teeth first, black lips peeling back as he lunged in quick as a snake to rake his jaws along the arch of Lysander’s neck. He snapped for an ear, next, then withdrew enough to lift his hooves and strike at his shoulder, his legs. Had Reichebach instructed them not to kill? He couldn’t remember. Even if he had, their king crow clearly wasn’t playing by his own rules. The buckskin licked his lips and tasted blood. It reminded him of his powders back in Denocte – explosive, dangerous magic. Like this. It’s not until Raum’s hiss caught his ears that Acton looked up from his bloody work again, skin slick with sweat. Despite the night, despite the snow, his body burned like full summer beneath the Solterran sun. At the feral, furious look in Raum’s eyes he only laughed, a wild, black sound of joy, too caught up for full understanding. His ears were too full of other sounds, his mind at once chaotic and singularly focused. They could fix anything that needed it later. The only broken thing that mattered in this moment was the poor bastard they were bludgeoning. And Acton doubted he’d make it much longer. @Lavinia @Raum @Reichenbach