It had been the copse of trees. He was sure of it. As they had passed through the opening into the dense forest he had felt something unusual. A sense of disquiet.

He cursed himself for his lack of foresight.

They were no longer in the Glen he was certain of it. Magical means had transported he and his men as surely as the sun was now rising at an odd height. The bitter cold of this realm, whatever it was, contained a sharpness that had not been felt on RhyDin.

He said nothing to his men. He had no need to. They were well-trained in the oddities of their strange lives. Many had superior scouting skills to his. They all became aware of the anomalies that pointed to the discovery of their disjointed position.

For now he chose to follow this through to its logical outcome; but, he was already plotting. He would get them all home to their families. A tightening of his jaw exhibited at the thought of his children and being so far apart from them.

When he discovered who was responsible for his misadventure, he promised the swift dreadful retribution he was infamous for.

His back hit the rocky wall and he was instantly flat against it as he ignored the throbbing race of his heartbeat to instead listen for the encroaching sounds of his attacker. His lungs fought against the iced burn that had long since become an accepted part of his newfound reality. Breath formed crystals in the air as he exhaled through chapped and bloody lips.

Never once did he consider sliding down the ice coated wall he crouched behind and simply letting go. The fury that singed his veins was fierce enough to boil away even the noxious chill of this angel-forsaken hell.

The drift of snow that fell from above was all the warning he needed. It was too much to be a part of the drift and therefore it stood to reason that he was no longer alone.

A twist of lethally honed muscles sent him spinning out and away from the precarious escarpment to reveal himself to the white furred monstrosity that hovered feet above him. Its claws curved nearly a foot in length, deadly crescent moons that would rend him into manageable chunks for it to feed on. It was nearly twice his size even in its crouched position. The thick hide that kept it warm here in this dismal land ridiculously difficult to puncture as he and his men had discovered.

Thus, the trap. And he'd insisted on being its bait. Spreading his arms wide, a hilt held in either muscled hand, he bellowed his own rage at being trapped here. He unleashed the pent up fear and anger at being this far gone from his children. Picturing their faces he feared never to see again, he opened himself up for the beast's attack. Defiant challenge given with the ululating howl of the enraged.

The shaggy monstrosity responded with its own bellow. Rising up on its hindquarters it lifted its shaggy head and answered Lachlan's defiance. Teeth the length of his arm dripped saliva as its lips pulled back and vibrated in a snarling roar.

The exposure of its chest was the opportunity he and his men had been waiting for and he didn't need to give the signal to know that they would follow his instructions. The snap of leather was a sharp TWANG! of warning as the sharpened ram was released from its moorings to swing across the space, gathering momentum that it needed. The concussion with which it hit the beast squarely was thunderous as the sounds of its ribcage shattering echoed throughout the snow swept valley. Its roar became a thing of pain before it gurgled away, the sound of its dying death rattle cheered by men who swooped down from their hiding places.

The impact of its body sent a vibration through the ground and Lachlan almost lost his footing. Snow dislodged by the impact nearly buried him as the valley responded in miniature avalanches.

"Ye plan on stayin' down there or you gonna join us for the skinnin'?" The voice of Canthus was accompanied by a braided rope and Lachlan wasted no time sheathing his blades and wrapping the offering around his forearm.

"You plan on bein' man enough to pull me out of here or do ye need to go get yer brother to lend ye a hand?" Lachlan taunted in return.

The rough jerk of the rope was his answer.

The realization that he'd live to see his children another day lifted dark spirits. They had meat. They had fur. Soon they would have a fire to combat this perpetual icy misery. And beyond that they would find a way home. He had to believe in that. Hope, after all, was the only thing that kept a man from defeat.

The crackling fire had brought with it a general air of camaraderie. The men were in high spirits after the success of their monumental kill and many had full bellies to aid in their mood.

"So then Lethe was all 'I'm far beastier than ye, ye damn walkin carpet!" Canthus was regaling the group, yet again, with his humorous take on the outcome of today's battle. At six foot eight and as broad shouldered as they came, Canthus looked far from silly as he imitated their leader, shrugging off his new white fur coat to lift bulging biceps to the sky and roar in a fair imitation of the pissed off Lachlan. Red gold hair looked as if a river of bloody gold as he shook his head and released his own pent up frustration.

Lachlan let him have it. That moment of pure unadulterated release, even as some of the more veteran warriors looked to the mouth of the protected valley they'd holed up in. All the noise could possibly lead a keen predator to their doorstep. Despite this very real concern it was broad grins that met the antics of the youthful Canthus.

"One would think with as brilliant a tactician as he is, he'd be smart enough to get the heaven's fall out of a bowl surrounded by snow." Numarc's words rumbled from where it had appeared the older man was sleeping in a bundle of white fur.

The men's laughter was fierce and rough as they all began to throw in suggestions for Lachlan's survival.

"You're talkin about a man who has never found his way out of a pretty little swell without dipping in deep first." Mavarnican took the win with his most ribald suggestion and the laughter topped its previous decibel level.

"Now, now." Lachlan waved them down with a glint in his golden eyes that should've warned what was to come was only going to inspire them to greater heights of hilarity, "You all know me, hell your sisters all know me intimately, I was just---"

The rest of his words were lost in a riot of sound as the men all descended into hooting and hollering. The ribbing humor escalating as they forgot for the moment in their hilarity the precariousness of their situation.

Looking past the sentinels stationed at the entrance of their chosen sanctuary Lachlan kept his grin in place even as the searing bite of the perpetually icy wind remained an incessant reminder that this land was inhospitable at best and nowhere near their new found homeland.

And from one moment to the next he went from the hard slumber to full alert. He recognized the tone of men who were uneasy, which was a far sight more dangerous than men who were fearful or angered. An uneasy man was an unpredictable one. Rolling to his feet he grasped the worn hilt of his sword and belted it on in one smooth motion. Within four short breaths he was at the mouth of the cave peering out into the snowy terrain at what had unnerved Canthus and his brother, Uthor.

The sight of the Siren drew a grimace to tighten his jawline. "Step back inside." The low growl an order that was more sharp and effective than a loud bark despite its almost buttery softness. The lines around his eyes drew together as the golden heat of his gaze locked upon the undeniably provocative sight before him. "Rouse the men." The soft secondary aside drawing nods from Canthus and Uthor as they did his bidding.

Her step had paused just a few feet from the guardsmen, though still she stood extended and exposed, lush lines and supple curves revealed. Thick lashes framed icy eyes that were industrious in their survey of those in attendance as well as those just arriving from inside the cave. Heavenly it seemed, she watched them begin to move about, before powdery pink lips parted and her voice, enthralling and soft, was heard. "N? b?odh eagla orm, marfach. A lorg agam ach t? a fhios agat." The words were unknown, but the intonation that carried them was welcoming, soothing in a way as it poured across the ear.

Lachlan resisted the desire to let his gaze drift where it would. The hand upon his hilt tightening as he responded to the enthralling drawl of her voice. "Your tongue is unfamiliar to me, milady." His manner remained unfailingly polite despite his obvious readiness for violence and from behind him he heard Mavarnican mutter to another, "A woman's tongue Lethe doesn't know?" If the jest jarred him it didn't show as he recognized the men's humor as a way to gather their courage to face whatever creature could walk unaffected in this clime without even cloth to protect her from the elements. Their banter might disguise the sounds of a war party gearing up and for that alone he could let the humor stand. The cave's mouth was much too wide for even his impressive stature to hide the movements behind him but he squared up directly before the diminutive female blocking some of her vantage point.

Her eyes fell upon this man and paused, unlike those who had procured a simple glance before. It was obvious that this man had strength and power, an alpha amongst the pack. She took a partial step forward, drawing a line in the snow as glacial eyes swept down along the hard ridges of his stout frame. "T? t? an ceann ba mhaith liom." She said softly, another step taken as the delicate length of her fingers extended toward him in a gesture of greeting. The emerging breeze from the south caught the gentle lay of her hair as she moved for his hand, drawing ebony strands away to once again expose the ample swell of her naked breasts.

He simply believed in the strength of his convictions and his faith worked as assuredly as did a more magical shield, if she were sensitive to such energy she might 'see' the shimmering aura that surrounded him as she reached for his touch. As her hand sought his weapon hand, his other lashed forward with a speed that hinted at inhuman dexterity, though when the calloused grip found her satin-soft skin it was gentle and light. Easily he encircled the seemingly delicate bones of her wrist. "Numarc." His voice aimed to carry over one broad shoulder as he summoned the eldest amongst them, certainly this sage man might have a better chance at deciphering the enigma so sensuously laid before him.

Touch. It was all that she required. Her wrist was small within his hand and the scrape of his fingers was akin to tearing across silk, startling that it didn't leave runs in her flawless flesh. She was cold, much colder than the climate that surrounded them, and yet somehow it provided an internal sanctuary from the hopelessness that her desolate briar naturally conjured. As it was, she was his prisoner for the moment, and with a lean she looked around the width of his broad shoulder to see whom this mabn spoke to. With contact, though, there came a bond, and as the moment lingered her venomous thoughts sought to infect his mind. *Do not let them hurt me, my guardian. Your men wish to have me as their whore, though I belong to only one*. At the end of this wordless suggestion she took a step near him, a fearful step, one that left her free hand resting gently upon his armored chest.

He felt an immediate protective surge that was in alignment with his normal demeanor. She was fragile softness and he felt the brute for even letting his cursedly strong hand mar the delicate perfection of her flawless flesh. At the same moment the weight of this cursed land seemed less omniscient. Her lean was met by the broad expanse of his chest as he stepped into it and drew her delectable nakedness against him. But as her thoughts oozed into his own they brought with them the distinctive flavor of an enchantress which when coupled with their message drew a stiffening to his spine, the gentle grip upon her wrist strengthened vicelike as he drew it up her own slender spine and drew her nearer to him. His growl when it came was masculine and terrifying as he had to bend to reach her ear, "And whose to protect you from me, witch? Should I wish to use you as the whore you present yourself as? Where is this one you belong to then or would you have me enchanted to believe I hold that honor?"

His early response was met and reciprocated, a gentle caress as distance was consumed and bodies touched. He was warm, far too warm for her, though she did nothing to show this as she melded against his hard frame in a sensuous embrace. The tension that filled his muscles showed obvious deterrent, which was then quickly followed as her arm was drawn high above her head. There was a momentary sign of weakness, of fear, in those eyes of her as she stared at him, but the ruse of the Baroness ended swiftly at his words. A haughty arrogance overcame her, that of the Unseelie, and this facade of sincerity suddenly melted away, dripping from her beatific features to show the arctic semblance lurking beneath. "A fool you are, Lachlan. A fool indeed." The hand that lay upon his chest exuded magic, a swiftly enacted spell, that sought to encase him in a thick sheath of ice from the neck down.

Numarc lifted his own creaky voice in a ululating holler of old traditional lorespeak. The Lightbringers responded by taking up the fullthroated roar of their people, while not able to drown out the malefic song of the Bean-Sidhe the counteraction was perhaps unknown to the Baroness as the contingent of men struggled to stay upon their feet beneath the onslaught of her voice. Uthor, the mighty brother of Canthus, fell to his knees in the snow and clasped his hands over his ears as blood streamed from his nostrils. Beside him Mavernican kept his bow drawn though could not find the focus to loose any more arrows in her direction, a trembling beset his weakened limbs despite his arrogant determination to stay upon his feet. Canthus crawled toward her, a heavy mace hitting the terrain and piercing the frozen earth as he dragged himself toward her, agony twisting his face into a mask of furious pain beneath the spill of bloodgold hair. Trapped. Lachlan could do nothing as his men struggled valiantly to dispatch their newest opponent. Though the flex of his arms and chest sent a spidering crack along the inner layer of the ice that bound him, it was not enough to free him. His lips drew back in a snarling howl as he took up the song of Numarc and sang of the death of the Dark General at the hands of Leoline. Blood pooled in the corners of his eyes and trickled from his ears to drip upon his icy suit of armor. But it was Cara's scream that cut through the noise the most, pain blossoming along the sound of it, almost girlish despite the fierceness of her warrior stature, as she was taken from the air by the Cat-beast. The solid impact alone had broken something, cracked bones in her sternum and as she landed in the snow the axe slid free from her grasp. Despite this shocking injury, she whipped the dagger free from her boot and sought to stab it deep within the sleek coat of the beast atop her. Rapidfire came the stabs, thrusting in quick repetitiveness at anything near enough to puncture as she sought to prove to the beast that it did not wish to stay and finish her.

The shrill lingered, bombarding those able to hear it with an onslaught of pain and affliction. Another pivot sent thick black hair fanning out around her nubile form, still lacking the sheath of clothing, as her eyes fell upon the mace wielding man. His persistence was admirable, if she admired such things, that is. Instead she strode nearer to him, a cursory glance given to Lachlan. "Call your dogs off or I will put them down. For good." To accentuate this point she turned back to the red-haired man. It was as though the snow responded to her glance, the ground began to mold and morph, extended upward with a quick stabbing motion four icicles sought to impale him - one for each shoulder, and one for each thigh - to lift him chest-height off the ground and suspend him from the piercing shafts. She hadn't wanted the crimson flow to sully her perfect snow, but it had, and once the scales had been tipped there was no going back. Brokk had no intention for the girl beyond knocking her from the path of her flight, though as the dagger emerged and began stabbing forward that all changed. A ferocious roar answered the work of her dagger as it slashed a gap in his side. Heavy paws struck forward for her shoulders to pin her to the ground, and as the last series of stabbing attack came in, a tilt of his head and snap of his powerful jaws sought to alleviate the thrusting wrist of its dagger-wielding hand.
Marvarnican fell beneath the final onslaught of that note, drifting down into blessed unconsciousness as his soul quivered within his mortal body, tears and rivulets unseen by any eye riddled his very being and life was fast dwindling from his felled form. The groan from Uthor revealed his own struggles to withstand the witch's mighty ability and he collapsed further into the snow, his own agony leaving him thankfully unaware of the torture that befell his brother as Canthus was impaled and lifted upward, his red blood splattering upon the snow and hissing where it melted it with its heat. His scream was a gurgle of choking pain. Numarc alone managed to stay upon his feet, though one had to wonder if Lachlan would have been able to join him in the defiance without the icy prison of his shell. Golden eyes promised retribution as he let the song of his people echo in the snowy valley. "Stand down." The words came from the fierce grip of his throat as he watched her approach Canthus.

The dagger was fiercely wielded and his blood her award as Cara sought to free herself, the pin of Brokk's heavy weight not stopping the wicked slash of it. As his jaw closed around her forearm and crushed and splintered bone, she finally released her blood soaked grip, only to reveal that this girl was not done, her knee rising sharply and revealing the sharpened point that set upon the hinge of her armor.

Her graceful stride carried her to Canthus who hovered at her eye level. With an intimate examination she studied the pain etched upon his strong face, how oddly it seemed to contrast the determination that painted it just moments ago. She reached forth with a slim finger and traced the line of his jaw from ear to chin before bending at the waist and delivering a quick kiss to his blood-splattered lips. She turned back to Lachlan and then to the others, making sure all were obedient to their master's command. Brokk had noted the jagged bends of her armor, and once the arm had been crushed he was pivoting away, just barely escaping the edge of that knee. He landed an uncanny distance away, thick drops of blood spilling across the stark snow as he began a languid circle around her, truly a predator eying its prey. Satisfied, Morgue returned to Lachlan's side, her arrival seeming to excite the blades of ice that were so dangerously near his throat. "Very good." She whispered to only him before expanding her voice for the rest to hear. "Now, remove your armor and clothing and surrender your weapons so that we may return to my home." Her smile was devious. "From hence forth, you are the guests of Winterthorne Briar."