It was... painful.

  It frog had never felt anything like this. Which only added another layer to the confusion of feeling bad when it wasn't the one that had been hurt in the first place. For the frog was completely safe, watching as its most precious friend collapsed to the ground. As it went from alive and well, to dead and gone.

  It should be glad that it had avoided a similar fate.

  And yet it was painful. And every moment that passed only made it more so.

  After that one death, its friends managed to regroup and fight back more as one. They were having some success, certainly much more than any of the others around.

  But the guards were just better. They were better one on one - stronger and faster - and much better together - always covering their neighbors, acting with such a coordination that not even the limbs of most creatures should have with each other. Its friends, no matter how much they'd grown, no matter how good they were together, never stood a chance.

  And the guards weren't even fighting seriously: even if they were too far to be sure, their movements were far from the power and speed that its last opponent had shown when empowered.

  What they must be doing, what that now dead guard had attempted, was obvious: they were playing around, the same way the frog had with the crab. They didn't fight like every other creature here, always trying its hardest: they gave the bare minimum, as if they were in no danger whatsoever.

  It was a terrible idea. It was an insult.

  And yet, it was enough to repel its friends, to keep killing them one by one.

  Its friends were dying, and the frog could do nothing to help them. Its friends were dying - already most of them were gone - and it was just standing here.

  But there was one friend that the guards hadn't prepared for, that had been taking its time - as usual - but was now about to crash onto their line. There might be some hope still.

  The bison, the only one that could do something, was coming to help.

  The frog still felt bad about the creature for the treatment previously... but maybe it had just been overwhelmed by the calling? So close to the collateral, the pull was getting hard to resist. Or maybe the bison knew that their friends were in danger and wanted to rush to help, as the frog itself should have been doing?

  If it could make the difference, then all would be forgotten. The deaths of so many of their friends wouldn't have all been for nothing. The bison would break through and guide the rest to safety. To the collateral.

  The immense creature kept a slow canter. Not its highest speed by far, but still very fast for something of that size. And unstoppable.

  What could the guards' numbers and coordination do when a mountain was falling on them? What could they do against that bulk? They would have to fold or be trampled, letting the remaining friends through either way they chose.

  And then, just as the frog had allowed itself to hope that there really was a chance for some of them, that maybe it had been wrong about the bison...

  the creature stomped on the cuttlefish's head.

  Killing it instantly.

  ...

  As if nothing had happened – as if if didn't matter at all that it had just stomped one of its supposed friends to death – the bison proceeded to trample on anything in its way, making no distinction for the still living friends, threading over the bodies of the fallen, uncaring.

  In dejection, the frog felt its inner turmoil settle. It was no use languishing now. None of its friends would be alive in a few moments anyway. Perhaps the bison would, but that foul thing was no friend of its, and would need to be dealt with.

  But later.

  Now, the frog needed to watch. Be witness, and learn. It would see what the bison managed to do; how the enemy reacted to it and how far it would get.

  The guards were clearly organized in a manner completely beyond anything the frog could ever have foreseen or thought of. They were resourceful, and would have many hidden tricks that would allow them to come out on top eventually. But even if they didn't, the bison would still die in the end.

  The frog would see to it.

  And so it watched, as the bison crashed through the first line… and really did break through. Easily.

  What guards weren't crunched under its feet were sent flying, only to be swarmed as soon as they touched ground by the veritable unending mass of deadly claws and quills and talons that burst ahead as soon as the barrier keeping them was no more.

  As if it had been no effort at all, the bison kept marching forward at the same speed, frenzied creatures rushing beside and then ahead of it, unwittingly protecting its flanks. Those that couldn't maintain the pace, stomped on.

  But the guards were far from idle.

  As soon as the line had broken, all of them - from the furthest reaches of the valley, to the very top of the hill - burst into motion.

  While those at the peak got into a chaos rivaling the creatures below - though an ordered one, rushing around wildly, but with purpose - the ones closer to the bottom marched straight for where they needed to be: in almost no time at all, they arranged yet another barrier further up the trail, if one with fewer members.

  Soon, the frenzied creatures got stuck on this other, hastily prepared line. And though it wasn't as effortless a defense now, with some guards perishing due to the gaps, the others were moving too: those that weren't occupied with the rush up top were marching down the trail straight for the line. Mostly to replace the losses, but some of them were separating from the mass, and by their much quicker movements it was obvious they were empowered even if nothing could be felt from here. They were sprinting for those strange, jutting outcroppings - almost like small crags - inbetween the trails. What exactly they wanted to accomplish was a mystery, but the frog felt it would find out soon enough.

  Even the roving patrols down in the valley had stopped their terrible culling to rush straight for the castle. However, they didn't follow after the bison to attack it from behind. Rather, they headed for the other trails, slipping smoothly through the lines there, to precede the charge. Probably rushing to bolster the backup line even further.

  The frog could see how, in time, they could solidify their presence there. Then, they would be back to the same situation as before, only a bit further up.

  But the bison smashed through their plans again, with even more violence than before.

  It was starting to really gather speed, preparing for its proper charge. The frog couldn't help but shrink back at the prospect, even from safety. Would the guards be able to handle that?

  They were already forming yet another line, but it was going to be even weaker and less of an obstacle. How could it stop the bison when the previous ones had failed?

  And they were still, infuriatingly, playing around. Besides the ones that had run away for the outcroppings, none of them were invoking the whisper. They wouldn't hold.

  Let alone that the foul titan wasn't even their only problem anymore: other really strong creatures had come out of hiding, and were picking out the lone weakened guards, cleaning after the bison. Evidently, the frog wasn't the only one that had thought to wait for a better opportunity. It should have been obvious that the stronger ones would also be more observant.

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  Only, despite how bad the situation was looking for the guards... they wouldn’t lose. Even though theirs was a poor showing right now and everything pointed to the opposite, the frog was certain - for some reason - that they would come out on top in the end.

  As if to confirm this feeling, the sprinters finally made their appearance on top of the outcroppings. An, as the frenzy got closer to the new line, and consequently to them, they started throwing their... spikes? at the strongest creatures. Somehow they'd got multiples of them and - Why would they do something like...?

  But the way their targets were dropping dead by the moment was reason enough, really.

  It must be the whisper that allowed them to do such wonders, to strike from a distance like that - something no other creature was capable of. What an interesting manner of attack…

  However, despite their success in handling the strongest assailants, they could do nothing for the bison. No matter how many spikes pelted it, they seemed to bounce off its fuzzy exterior. Even in the rare case where they went through that layer of defense, they still did nothing to slow the creature down.

  Pretty soon, the titan trampled yet another barrier. Faster and scarier than before.

  The frog knew from their time spent together - which it would have to carry in its memory possibly forever, unfortunately - that the foul thing wasn't entirely invulnerable: though its true strength was unknown, it had still avoided things that were clearly harmful. But it was also so durable that what would be deadly to any other could at most annoy it. By the time any amount of spikes did anything harmful, it would be at the castle.

  This went on for some time, the frog's frustration only increasing.

  The guards tried something new between each line.

  At times, they just looked like a more organized version of the frenzy, roving about apparently aimlessly.

  Other times, the frog managed to understand what they were about, and marveled at their ingenuity. Like when they planted the spikes askew on the ground, presumably so that the bison would impale itself on them, or when they used their higher position to make boulders roll onto it.

  Unfortunately for them, the creature wasn't simple and avoided most of their attempts or simply endured those it couldn’t.

  Clearly they were accomplishing something, as the bison had stopped gathering speed and maybe even slowed down a little bit.

  Despite itself; despite knowing how much worse and wronger they were then the bison; despite knowing they were the true, material killers of its friends... somehow the frog found itself wanting them to win. Just this one time.

  But they couldn’t really stop the bison. It broke their ranks again and again. No matter what, it always ended the same: with guards sent flying and then overrun by the frenzy or simply trampled on.

  Until, finally, something moved at the top.

  The frog had intentionally avoided looking at that thing, even when it had started making its way down from the castle. But now that the bison was on a collision course, it was impossible.

  The giant… figure, was still hard to make out properly from so far away, and with so much movement around it.

  Its appearance didn't seem particularly extravagant: basically a guard like any other, if much bigger and thicker. Gnarlier. But it wasn't the appearance that creeped out the frog so. The subtle, underlying unease shared by each one of its kind... that while they did belong here, it would be best if they didn't - as if any essence that touched them became lesser... That feeling was amplified beyond compare in this one creature, exasperated into sheer, utter wrongness.

  This knight shouldn't be. And the fact that it was, meant a worsening of everything else around it.

  ... but strange feelings and delusions aside, there was a quality to its gait and bearing, to the way the other guards reacted to its presence, that made it stand out. Where the others coordinated well, always understanding each others' moves and acting in accordance, this knight was separate. The other guards still moved well with it and never impeded its passage, but that was because they were indulging it, bowing to its desires: if any of them made a mistake, it would trample on them just like the bison would. And they would let it.

  Accompanied by a blaring, haunting sound that could shake a creature's very bones, this knight moved to stand in their opponent's way. The frog was certain that it would endure.

  While the bison was approaching, faster and faster, it took position and started winding back its hand.

  ... And there it was. Much clearer than ever before.

  So much stronger than in the guard it had fought, the frog felt it like it was screaming in its head, even from this distance. The whisper.

  And, much more important, the barest hint of what was at its base. The ineffable thing of which it was the manifestation.

  …

  It was clear now what it had felt, that had empowered the guard. Because it had been there now, much stronger, in the knight.

  The thing that flowed beneath the currents. What it had tried so hard to put out of its mind, to deny the existence of. That only now, shoved right in its face, could it realize just how deeply it yearned for.

  It was gone so fast the frog could only study its aftertaste, so fast that it was already doubting its senses and reason, once again.

  But it had been there - it likely still was, hidden - flowing over and around the knight. Empowering the thing in such a terrible way the frog wanted to just run away, forgetting all about the collateral and the bison.

  If the comparably weak guard had almost been its end with a trickle, what was this creature about to unleash? Would anything survive it?

  Only the memory of its friends, and the desire to make their deaths worth something, held it.

  The bison didn’t seem to notice any of this, but it must have realized something was up with this special kind of guard, because it lowered its head as the frog knew it would when faced with stronger opponents: a proper charge.

  In their travels together – when the frog still thought they might be friends — few creatures had gotten this treatment from the bison. None had survived. None had even come close to surviving. The knight would be different, clearly. But what would be the outcome of a clash between such titans?

  Soon enough, the bison shot forward in that impossibly fast dash of its, easily tossing aside what frenzied creatures had run ahead, and yet another, barely formed line of guards.

  When the creature was upon it and the knight lunged, slamming its hand in the bison's face – in a strike that simply couldn’t be possible – and knocked it back!

  ...the frog wasn’t too surprised. Even if something absurd had happened.

  What was really surprising was when the bison easily caught itself and bounced back: it hadn’t even finished touching ground with all its feet, and was already rushing to the side, coming back at the knight in a curve.

  Again, the special guard easily sidestepped backhanded it out of the way in a sequence of movements that clearly couldn't be.

  But the bison was not to be outdone, and showed a side of its strength completely out of any prediction.

  It bounced back once again, unharmed, and came back at the knight... without breaking its charge. Somehow, it managed to preserve momentum even when the knight supposedly broke it.

  The frog was astounded. It had thought this was a state the bison could enter by dashing in one direction, committing everything in a do-or-die, all-out attack. Not… whatever was happening right now. The thing didn’t seem to have any trouble veering at a whim, moving up and down what was now an extremely steep incline as if it were flat.

  It started coming at the knight in absurd ways. Zigzagging at extremely sharp angles, ducking down under its strikes... even stepping back out of them, and then back into the knight! all without ever breaking its stride.

  The strongest guard could handle it all, of course: it knocked the bison back every time, never allowing it to get past, no matter the angle of its approach. At worst, it was forced to use the haft of its still unused spike to deflect a surprise attack, but was otherwise immovable.

  Still, the frog had expected a one-sided win from it. Not this stall. The bison might be unable to proceed or to ever land a hit, but neither did the knight seem capable of accomplishing anything besides knocking it around.

  An area of death had formed around them, any creature that dared to get close crushed to death. An afterthought. And those that managed to skirt to the sides, the knight didn't appear to mind that endless swarm rushing around, focused only on the bison and letting the new line of guards behind handle them.

  Somehow, their fight had ended up the complete opposite of any expectation: the bison charging in with superior speed and maneuverability, while knight countered that through greater strength and steadiness – even with a fraction of the enemy's size.

  They were evenly matched.

  The knight had on its side something the profundity of which the frog couldn’t even fathom... and the bison could keep up with that.

  That foul thing was the true surprise here. How was it keeping up? How could any creature here ever become that strong? Even the owl would be long dead by now, and yet...

  What had something of its level ever wanted with the frog and its friends? Why walk with them? They had nothing to offer, nothing that would matter to a creature of that power.

  Unfortunately, it was far too late to know now.

  And on top of the disappointment with how the fight was going, there was also the much greater frustration of having the thing-that-flows-beneath flaunted this way right in its face.

  This deep into the fight, the knight was making full use of the hidden power, and the frog could feel it whisper all about it. There were no more doubts that it was real – as much as such a thing could be real – and that it was giving strength to its invoker.

  But no matter how much the frog observed and tried to understand - to internalize - what was happening, there was no way forward. However the knight was doing it, even if it was happening right there, in plain sight for it to examine... the frog felt absolutely certain that it couldn’t learn anything from that, no matter which way or how hard it tried.

  Not that that was a good reason to give up.

  In fact, as the two impossibly strong creatures fought, the frog observed and tried to learn – even while knowing for sure that it was more likely to spontaneously grow to the bison's size and start dashing around than to touch onto the hidden flow.

  It started dancing in place, trying to mimic the knight's movements, hoping that would help, somehow. Anything that came to mind, and that had even the slightest chance to do something, it would try, and eagerly.

  So focused was it on the dance, it almost didn’t notice when the thing took the field.