"Collect the fallen! Let's get them home!"

The words floated into Riccardo's head as if through a fog. It was always this way for him after battle, as the soldier had to be put to rest and his consciousness took back over. He blinked, turning in a daze to glance at where he could see figures picking through the bodies piled around him. The clink of their armor added for an eerie serenade on a wind that was already saturated with the scent of spilled blood - or maybe the smell was wafting up off his own clothes.

Knowing he should join his father at his side, he turned away from the sight of the soldiers picking through the bodies for their fallen comarades. He trudged forward, feeling as heavy as if the very air had suddenly thickened to impede his progress. It was too much to move, let alone breathe, and he had to let himself crumple into the snow and against the nearest tree to rest his back against.

On the cold ground, Riccardo put a hand to his chest and closed his eyes, trying to breathe the growing tightness away. It's over now. The battle is over, he thought to himself. We're done.

With those thoughts, he deepened his breath. He didn't know how long he was there for, somehow tuning the noises and smells out around him as he focused his attentions on just coming down from the battle. It was a low rumble that suddenly broke the moment of peace he was enjoying, and his eyes flashed open immediately at the sound, every muscle in his body tensing.

The second his eyes opened, teeth were in his face, and he shouted incomprehensibly as he reached out to try to deflect the furry muzzle gnashing fangs at him. His arm ended up right in the beast's mouth, and the teeth chomped down on his arm with a sickening crack in the air. He let out a cry, but with his other hand he reached for the knife on his hip. As his fingers found the hilt of it, the wolf shook its massive head, sending Riccardo's thin body ragdolling. He snarled back at the wolf, trying to claw at its mouth through the disorienting way the world shook around him. It was hard to tell if he hit anything, but suddenly a massive paw slammed him onto the ground.

A high pitched sound rang in his head, but he reached for his knife again, and grabbed it just as he saw massive teeth coming down on his face. He thrust the knife up at the wolf, piercing through the underside of its jaw. It yowled in pain, and took a step back from the pain of it. This gave Riccardo the opening he needed to get up to his feet. His dominant arm was too destroyed to grab for his sword, and his knife was buried in the wolf's flesh. In a split second decision, Riccardo turned to bolt, knowing he wasn't too far from help, and that they'd likely heard his struggles and were on their way to help him already.

Just as he turned, something collided with his back and pushed him to the ground so that the wind was knocked out of him. He tried to turn, but was properly pinned, and only managed to turn his head just enough to see the beast's giant fangs closing in on his head.

"Screeeeeee!"

The very loud screech of a bird was heard as a large mass collided with the werewolf, knocking it off of Riccardo. He turned, scrambling back as he watched the massive and familiar form of his gryphon squaring up with the werewolf. The wolf was already a giant creature, standing as tall as any man at the shoulder and thickly muscled under its shaggy fur. The gryphon was not a thick creature, and was lightweight thanks to slim bones for flight, but it still had the advantage in size.

The gryphon flared its wings wide and swiped with a clawed, bird-like foot at the werewolf. The wolf dodged it, and got on its hind legs to go for the gryphon's throat. Before the loyal beast could even counter the attack, an arrow whooshed into the fray and found its mark in the wolf's eye. The gryphon's claws landed on the wolf again to push it to the ground. His beak dove at its neck, and Riccardo heard the fleshy sounds of the beast's throat being ripped into despite not being able to see the surely grizzly sight around the massive body of the gryphon.

"Your majesty, are you alright," a voice called and Riccardo looked to see the archer who'd slayed the wolf approaching, bow still in hand.

"I'm alive, thanks to you," was Riccardo's answer to that. His arm didn't hurt as badly as it should yet, but he knew once the adrenaline wore off, it would hit him with a vengeance. "Thank you, Ruben." He moved to stand up by himself, but paused when he noticed the other man offered him a hand up. He took the hand wearily, and let himself be pulled to his feet.

"I think Taizong's your real hero," Ruben commented, glancing over at the gryphon who had decided to snack on the wolf it had helped slaughter. He picked his head up at hearing his name, and swiveled his round, owlish face around to stare back at the two vampires with his big, brown eyes.

"Good boy," Riccardo praised his mount, softly. The gryphon only blinked back before turning on his feast again.

"Riccardo!"

His name from the growly and deep voice made him cringe and turn slowly to face its owner. King Demetri Tenepri was a man large in height and in frame. He was thickly muscled under his silver and blue armor, exuding sheer power in his silhouette alone. His black hair was as dark as Riccardo's own with eyes to match. His mustache was shaped in such a way so it seemed he was always scowling and when he was actually scowling as he was now, it was only even more intense.

As if he needed any more help to look intimidating, his father rode a maned elk which - unlike its herbivorous namesake - was a carnivorous creature with tall antlers, and horns that jutted out of its thick brown fur all the way down its neck. It had two tusks that came down from its upper mouth that had earned it the nickname of 'vampire deer'.

"What happened," Demetri growled as his elk trotted up to Riccardo, brow pinched and angled down in scrutiny.

"I was taken off guard," Riccardo explained, his long ears angling back and down as he did.

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"Taken off guard how," his father asked with a growl. "You didn't hear the only enemy in a mile wide radius?"

Riccardo shook his head, finding his voice failing him.

"You should jave done us the favor of letting it kill you," Demetri hissed through his fangs. He turned to Ruben beside Riccardo, then, and ordered, "Ruben, tend to him well enough for the trip home. I don't want anyone burdened with him if he faints."

"I won't -" But Riccardo cut himself off as his father spurred his mount into an immediate lope away.

"Come... The medical provisions are this way," Ruben offered immediately to lead the way.

Riccardo sat patiently in the medical tent where Ruben took care of his arm. He was far from the only one there, and he looked piteously at the other men lying on their cots. While a few nurses had followed them from home and to battle, this was all just quick patchwork to stabilize everyone until they got back home again. A few other men with basic first aid knowledge like Ruben were assisting the nurses with the fallen soldiers.

Many of their men had suffered severe bites like Riccardo had: bones snapped and deep puncure wounds that had lost their hosts' lots of blood. These kinds of injuries would heal swiftly, though, with the proper care. It was a perk of being what they were. Even those among them who had lost limbs had a high chance of their limbs being salvaged and reattached. Those whose limbs could not be reattached would, meanwhile, be taken care of by their society. Even soldiers who'd had to retire from battle were honored.

"You're lucky," Ruben said, pulling Riccardo from his thoughts. He had more or less managed to let his brain phase out the pain of Ruben's work, but his attention pulled back to his present situation made him grimace against it. "You could have lost this arm. More of our soldiers lost limbs this time than usual. The enemy seems to have a new strategy."

"Has there been luck recovering them so far," Riccardo asked, looking back over the soldiers again, and noting just how many missing arms and legs from their persons there seemed to be.

"We'll be leaving a team behind to focus on recovery efforts," Ruben let Riccardo know. "But we're already expecting more permanent amputations from this battle than usual."

"We'll lose this war," Riccardo mumbled, dully. "It's not one we should have started in the first place."

"You should be mindful what you say, young prince," Ruben advised. "Your father leads us to victory and glory in the name of the Night Mother. There are those who would call you a heretic, or worse, treasonous, to hear you do not support the war."

Riccardo sighed softly. "Of course..."

Ruben didn't say more to him, and when the man was done, Riccardo glanced down at the rough field dressing with a most curious and precursory glance. He wasn't bleeding through, but he'd had enough injuries treated to know it was sloppily done. The royal physician was going to undo it all once they got home, but this would do for now. His puncture wounds were dressed and clean, and a makeshift sling cradled his arm. While he took curious stock of Ruben's work, a glass bottle was thrust at him in his peripherals.

"Drink, your majesty."

Riccardo turned and took the bottle without a word from Ruben and immediately touched it to his lips. He threw the drink back to gulp down as quickly as he could. Lukewarm blood was unpleasant on any occassion with a slimier texture than when it was warmed. He got no pleasure from the drink. When he was done with it, it was to find Ruben had already moved on to assist with the others in need around them.

Riccardo set the bottle back down beside him, and slowly let his posture sink until he gave in to lay down on his cot, electing to wait until he was told to do otherwise.

Riccardo felt tired enough that he wanted for sleep, but it didn't come. He watched the goings on around him quietly instead. Their medical personnel did their jobs, flitting between the soldiers to tend to their needs. Blood was being handed out, and he noticed most didn't get a full bottle like he had. It was being rationed between the injured members of their army, and it made him wonder if any of the uninjured were getting any at all. It was doubtful. The troops would be weary by the time they got home.

All the while that the injured were being cared for, others were working to load everything for the return home. This slowly began to include the injured. When Riccardo spotted the unconscious being laid into the back of wagons, and the rest being assessed for their ability to ride mounts or have to be carried home, he got up off of his cot to go find Taizong.

One short hour later saw the whole troop setting off for home again. They would not see the tall walls of the palace during this night, and Riccardo had a feeling his father would drive them at a relentless pace through the day. With their blood supply so obviously low, they were fighting biological clocks. A hurt and hungry vampire could quickly become a feral, bloodthirsty beast. The rest would have been welcome among the troops, but they stood more to lose than gain by stopping at any point on their journey home.

"Some of the injured were tied down to boards," Riccardo heard Ivan say lowly at his father's side. The grizzly, bear of a man had a short beard and an ugly scar that ran from his right brow to the left corner of his mouth. "There were more of them than usual. Morale is low even if we came out of this one victorious," Ivan continued to advise.

"Our death count was higher, too," Ruben added lowly. "The wolves are becoming more organized. They fight with more strategy. We will have to adjust our training methods accordingly."

His father was quiet in all of this, and Riccardo frowned at the back of his head. *Or stop the war,* he thought where he otherwise rode quietly on the back of Taizong. *Stop this nonsense.*

"It's too little too late for them," his father said. "With Edelwolf's attacks on their eastern borders, their numbers are quickly dwindling. Our victory has never been so close in grasp. I will remind our troops of this when we return home. I feel they will be cheered by what awaits them, anyways." He turned then and Riccardo was surprised when his father's gaze was on him. "You will be a gracious host to our troops and guests."

His birthday... He hadn't given it thought since they'd departed home, but he turned 50 years in a mere three nights now. It was a milestone for their kind, officially shaking off all final remnants of his boyhood. "I'll do my best," he promised in answer.

"No," Demetri said. "You will be a gracious host and you will not have one of your fits. There will be many prestigious leaders of our kind in attendance. You will not shame us with your weakness."

Riccardo's ears turned back, but this time he nodded. "Yes, father." There was no use arguing with him no matter how little he knew he could control his fits. If he had any control of them, he wouldn't have been attacked by the wolf in the first place. Under normal circumstances, he would have heard it long before it had its mouth on him.

They're getting worse, he thought, miserably. There had been a time when he never had such fits out on the battlefield. He'd been able to contain them before somehow, and mostly found they occurred from social situations, or the days after battle when the terror really had time to settle in. It was best when they happened in his quarters, away from his father's hard gaze and the many untrustworthy eyes around the palace.

After the short exchange with Riccardo, his father turned back to talk with his men, and Riccardo counted his lucky stars. If the universe was kind at all, he would receive a cold shoulder the whole journey home. It would make the trip long, but more bearable than if his father expected him to engage with him and their war generals.

A swift and quiet journey back to my own bed. That's all I want. He plead silently to the world.