Roo stared at the space around her sister, brow pinched in frustrated concentration.
Everything in their world had a name, be it a cup, a door, a lake, a cliff. Sentient things monikered themselves (Roo, Rhea) and each other (Moira, Mina). But all those things without voices had names, too. Ancient ones. Be it a cup, a door, a lake, a cliff.

Prototypical Altirian wasn't commonly known among their people. There were scholars, of course, and language enthusiasts and culture enthusiasts and all sorts of other enthusiasts, but no one else had a handle on Prototypical Altirian like she did. No one could quite make the language their own.

All those enthusiasts might accuse her of butchering what was original and true, but their language was different in that it arose from Altair's constituents themselves. The sentient creatures of Ancient Altair hadn't called a cup "a cup". The cup had named itself. She wasn't quite sure how it all worked or who had discovered that such a thing had even arisen, but then, maybe it didn't matter beyond her own curiosity. The most important thing was that Prototypical Altirian was the language of the land, and with knowledge of the language, the land could be changed. At least, Roo found that it could.

And so the ground beneath the riders was no long grass and soil and minerals and little bugs; it was sand. Quickly sinking sand that swallowed the glass that coated it and the hooves of great steeds that stood upon it. The steeds whinnied and reared in anger; the riders wobbled, their blades crashing far from their intended mark, though one of them managed to slice Rhea neatly across the face. She still did not move.
Rhea's focus was concentrated on the slowly building slabs of ice that were circling the plane, growing larger and glassier and so much faster each time whizzed by. The ice moved in circles, accompanied by a high pitched ringing, pinwheeling through grass and tormenting the warhorses that struggled to stand in the snow.

The two blocks of ice passed once, only about as high as Rhea's knee. Three riders were sprawled in front of her. The second time they passed, it towered above her head and two more riders had joined the fray. By the third pass, the last rider had finally stumbled into the clearing and his horse had promptly toppled over, shattering its legs against the floor. By now the ice blocks were as tall as glaciers, and this time they didn't pass at all. Instead they slammed into each other with a gut-wrenching crash, obliterating the incapacitated creatures and their horses, followed by a residual boom that echoed through the trees and a spray of snow that turned the world white and red.

Giovanni braced himself against the thick trunk of his hiding spot as soon as he anticipated the crash, marveling at the massive displays of power both of them displayed. It turns out Venenzio really might not have been hyperbolic in the least in his description of them.

"Hm." He acknowledged her request. "And did you have a trade-off in mind, or am I meant to do this out of the goodness of my heart?"

She pursed her lips contemplatively. In truth, she'd already decided on a best course of action, but haggling was always necessary in these circumstances, was it not? But then again, she didn't have time to convince him. She'd just have to trust that he wanted freedom as much as, or even more than she did. But maybe he could set the terms, so she could work around him. Yes, that sounded smart. "What do you want?"

"Hold on," Giovanni held up a hand. "You can't just say the word Nightrider and expect me to take that at face value. What are they?"

"And you're risking facing them because...?"

"Yes, exactly. Will you help me?" she asked. "It's hard enough without a broken arm..."

“How long has Parisa been gone?”

"Stay safe." she warned, "And don't do anything heroic, okay?"

Jia called for Feo as the line clicked emptily. "Mister? When are the lights coming back?"

He froze, gaze locked in a strange staring contest with the unsettling creature. He'd heard of shapeshifters before, but could it be? He hadn't heard her creeping further through the brush, though the terrible feedback in his mind disturbed his senses.