The snow had turned glassy and heavy flakes listlessly fell in the lamplight. Tired after a long, fun day in town, Azalea's lungs stung, and she felt sluggish. Having a full belly after their dinner meeting with Mavis didn't help matters.
She hovered behind Devin and Reina, trying to blow warmth into her hands and rubbing them together. She soon gave up, landed on Reina's back, and cozied into her fur.
Her two loves were busy conversing about the new commission, sourcing out bee-girl honey, given by Devin's charismatic harpy sister. Too sleepy to contribute much, Azalea listened to them make plans.
"Tomorrow might be a good time to have the wagon converted, and while we are there, maybe we can have a properly-fitted harness made," Devin commented.
"Less chafing would be appreciated," added Reina.
"The process should take a day or two."
"What changes are you making to the wagon?"
"Nothing major. Same thing I do every year. I'll have the wheels taken off and runners put on, turning it into a sleigh. Can you think of any other adjustments you would like?"
"Some bells."
"Bells?"
"Whitehorns wear a few during blizzards so they don't lose each other. While maybe not practical for us, it is a reassuring and pleasant sound," Reina explained.
Devin held her hand. "Bells it is, then."
As they rounded a street corner, the clock in the town center's tower had chimed eleven times. All the people socializing earlier had gone home, leaving the streets desolate except for an old man locking up his shop for the night.
Azalea was drifting off to sleep when she bolted upright. She stared intently behind them, her eyes flashing purple.
"What's wrong?" asked Devin.
"Someone's over there."
"Where?"
"In that alley." She grabbed his hand and bolted into the darkness.
He couldn't see anything, relying on his distressed-sounding fairy to lead the way. The rank smell of garbage was everywhere. He didn't want to know what he was stepping in as she led him to a dead end.
"Where am I looking?"
Azalea activated her crest, and another flash from her eyes made him rub his. Azalea was a ball of radiance, pulsing with life. His own hand and arm had an equally strong effulgence around them.
"What am I looking at?"
"Remember how we found Reina through her halation?"
"Her what?"
"Her life outline! Never mind about that. We need to save them!"
At his feet, in an overturned barrel, was a very faint outline, ambient and unmoving. A tattered rag hung in front of the barrel opening. The smell from inside made him recoil, but he held his breath and reached in. Digging around a pile of rags, he felt a squishy and soft lump which he dragged out of the barrel. Then he carried it to a lamp post where Reina and Jeni were waiting.
They all gathered around as he pulled back the fabric, revealing a demi-human with black hair, matted and greasy around tall, conical ears.
"A batgirl," wondered Reina. She reached out to discover the girl's skin was pale and cold.
"Is she still alive?" asked Devin.
"She won't be if we don't do something!" Azalea was on the verge of tears.
Jeni brought her ear close to the batgirl's face. "Barely detectable, but she is breathing."
"We might be too late to do anything for her. Finding a chirurgeon at this hour would be impossible... and even if we did, the chances of them knowing how to treat this specific kind of demi-human would be unlikely," Devin contemplated.
"But we have to try, life-mate!" pleaded Azalea.
With an earnest expression, Reina placed her hand on his. "I agree with Azalea, herd-mate. We need to try."
Jeni stroked the lifeless-appearing face with one of her feathers. "This one possesses a little knowledge that may be of assistance."
Devin was dubious but yielded. "Alright, I suppose where there is life, there's hope, and this one isn't gone yet. Maybe you two should take her and go on ahead."
Jeni scrambled onto Reina's back and held out her wings to Devin. "He handed over the demi-human. The owl-girl folded her wings around her patient and hugged her close.
"Azalea and I will be there as soon as we can," Devin stated
Reina sprinted away, the heavy crunch of her hooves disappearing into the dark.
"Azalea, We'll try our best."
"I know, life-mate. Thank you for trying." She sniffled.
—--
Where am I? Am I dreaming? I can't move or see anything. Voices? Whose? There is a calm, gentle voice.
"In here, herd-mate!"
Then an awkward, stuffy voice.
"This one will find apple vinegar for her mange."
A high, tinkling voice.
"Her wing is broken, life-mate."
Are they talking about me? It's hard to concentrate. I should have told my friend about being sick. I know she's going to be worried. She going to be upset with me. But thats ok, as long as I can see her mischievous face again. I want to laugh again at her stories.
"She groaned, life-mate!"
"A sign she's still with us."
'Warmth. It's awaking all the hurt. Hands, many hands, and some not hands... feathers? Strong, rough hands; tiny, delicate hands; slender, determined hands. They are putting something on me. Such a strong smell of overly-ripe apples. Rough scraping. It hurts, but it's making the itching go away.
Now where am I. Am I floating. It's hot. Everything throbs and aches, but it's soothing. Slender fingers are scrubbing something slimy into my hair.
I want to stay here forever. No, put me back in the heat. I don't like being cold. Strong hands are carrying me. I'm on something soft. Am I being dried off?'
Tiny hands are stroking my forehead.
