Marrow White ambled up the hill. Silent, like mist, he crouched through the susurrating grass and gazed down toward the shadow shrouded field below. The night was moonless, and cooking fires, now burning low, could

clearly be seen just a few hundred yards away. The air was tinged with wood smoke and night-blooming jasmine and whipped through the tall grass.

"The elements conspire in our favor. We will be upon them before they have an opportunity to react," said Dulcet Bell, now at his side. She spoke in quiet, measured tones; but true to her name, each word was delivered with an icy musicality.

"I estimate two or three dozen. A few likely remain awake keeping watch, what little good it will do them," said Marrow. He flicked his forelegs, one then the other, to activate the pair of hinged blades he wore. Two mechanical clinks indicated they were locked into place. They bowed outward like twin crescent moons.

Dulcet cantered evenly in practiced ritual as arcane updrafts encircled the pair. The cruel blades on either side of Marrow began to glow softly for a moment. "Voidsong guide you. May our enemies die twice before they hit the ground."

* * *

"Doing alright, Flicker?" came a reassuring baritone voice from Flick's right. A gray stallion, a middle-aged veteran, sat down next to him.

"Oh, uh, yes. Just eager to see the dawn arrive, Dart," said Flickering Flame. "It's my first watch on my first patrol. I never really appreciated just how long the night could be. Does...does that feeling ever go away?"

Darting Needle took in a deep breath and thought for a moment. "No. No, it never truly goes away. But you learn how to manage it."

"You don't seem bothered."

"You learn little tricks for putting your mind at ease. Don't be fooled by the self-assured dispositions of the others. Everyone feels uneasy during their night watch. Everyone becomes very superstitious, jumping at shadows and hearing threatening sounds all about them."

"How do you put it out of your mind?"

He laughed. "I sing!"

Flicker couldn't help but grin a bit, the firelight catching the glint of the ebony youth's toothy smile.

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"I come here to keep you company, and you mock me," said Dart, shaking his head with feigned indignence.

Flicker shook his head. "Not at all. It's just, well, I'll admit I never took you for the musical sort," he said.

"Old farm songs from my home village. As children, we'd sing as we did our chores to pass the time. Many of the songs are structured as little games." He looked off wistfully, as those approaching old age often do, wondering where the time had gone and reliving all of those childhood years in an instant in his mind before coming back to the present. "But you're a city pony, I believe? Might be a foreign custom then."

"Oh, we definitely had music. My parents are poor craftspeople by trade. Hardworking. I grew up in a neighborhood filled with people eager to find a way out. To move up and the like. Lots of street performers, aspiring musicians, singers..." A rustling of grass caught Flicker's attention and he jerked his head about. Dart did the same, his ears flattening.

"Probably nothing," he said after a few moments of quiet. "Keen hearing, Flicker. I'm impressed."

Flicker beamed with pride. "I feel much better, Dart. Thank you."

"Not at all. And the dawn will arrive before you know it." Dart stood to leave, when his eyes caught the flash of something in the dark only a few yards away. "That's odd, I-"

His words were cut short, as a pair of crescent blades whipped across his flesh, spilling his vital lifeblood into the sand. Flicker turned to see a bone-white stallion looming over him. With professional indifference, the stallion lashed out and separated the youth's head from his shoulders with a single stroke.

* * *

Marrow rushed throughout the camp, following the curling of the wind. He gave himself, body and mind, over to the rhythms of the night. His surefooted gallops never rose above the ambient sounds. He was a specter, slipping between shadows like a knife. It was a dance, and he executed it with practiced confidence. The ponies keeping watch heard little, even as Marrow's blades cut a bloody swath through them, reflecting the crimson light of the dying fires along their mirror surfaces. Each watchpony crumpled to the ground one after the other.

A few dozen yards away, Dulcet conjured forth snaking ribbons of fire that tore into the camp, igniting the tents and wagons with supernatural precision. Marrow stepped away as the blaze roared about, consuming the tents and the dying screams of their inhabitants. The column of flame illuminated the ghostly form of Marrow as he walked toward his companion.

"None escaped?" she asked.

"No. And the heat of the fire will consume the evidence to ash," he said. "Our master's sorceries will knit the blackened bones of the fallen together, and they will fight alongside us soon. And even on this moonless night, there are none for miles to see the flames."

The chestnut mare glanced up into the pitch-night sky. "Oh, but there is a moon, Marrow - The Null Moon. And she has reached her zenith, perfectly positioned to receive our offering."

The thick, occult smoke rose like an obsidian tower over the pyre.

"The Qliphoth stirs," Dulcet continued. "How I long for it to open." She bowed her head in supplication.