Smugglers and Dungeons!

They were underneath the lava. Icarus was holding on to Baldwin, his hands beginning to sweat.

Baldwin resurfaced once more. Icarus's head touched the ceiling.

"Baldwin," Icarus began, as Basila rested her head on his shoulder. Seemingly asleep.

He worried about her. He didn't know what had happened to her, exactly. But if she needed to sleep it off, then she must be dead tired.

And he knew that he had to get them out of there. Without waking her up.

"I don't think that this is the right way," Icarus continued, as Baldwin continued to ignore him. "Where are you taking us?"

Baldwin didn't so much as neigh. He was swimming. Ever forward.

"Ok, how about this: one neigh for no, two neigh for yes?" Icarus didn't know how he was going to hear the fire horse, seeing as the animal's snout was in the lava, but he couldn't think of anything better.

Baldwin neighed twice. It was muffled, but Icarus heard it.

So, as if Baldwin had whispered it in his ear.

"Ok! Where are you taking us, Baldwin? Home?" Icarus tried.

Baldwin neighed twice.

"Your home?" Icarus had the sinking suspicion that things were going to turn for the worst.

His father had once told him about a distant cousin of theirs. A man so cruel he could have taken over the world, if he only had a couple of more years to live.

That man had set songbirds on fire once. They had flown back to the village where they had nested, setting it aflame.

His father, Isbul, had clapped him on the back when Icarus had broken down crying. And then had set him aside. Away from Irina, who was shaking her head at the barbaric tale.

One she already knew.

"Why do you think the songbirds did what he wanted?" Isbul had asked him, as the man had gently wiped his tears away.

"Because he was a mage!" Icarus had still been at an age when such answers were logical. Before he had realized that a horselord could control mana, but never so well as to be called a mage.

"Genghis was no mage. He was smart, cruel, kind, with a great vision," Icarus had asked himself how a man could be cruel and kind at the same time, but he had not spoken back at his father.

That was a big no-no. Something his mother never allowed. Even if Isbul was as mild as an early summer wind passing through a field with his son.

"No, Icarus. Songbirds, dogs, oxen, even people, have the instinct to die where they have been born. For most people, that is impossible. Life sprinkles us on the earth, the winds of opportunity carry us to greener pastures," Isbul took in a deep breath, looking into the eyes of his son.

Irina's green eyes. He flipped the boy's elven ears.

The winds of opportunity had sowed him here. But he knew that his son wouldn't die here.

"And so, if an animal is going to die, or feels threatened, it goes back home. No matter the cost," Isbul hugged his son, as he imagined what was happening in the world.

He wanted to go home as well.

Even as small as Icarus had been back then, he could hear the longing in his father's voice.

Icarus looked at Baldwin. A horse made of fire. His home must be a fiery hell!

Icarus began to do something he had not wanted to do. He began to tug at Baldwin's mane. Trying to force him to turn around.

"Come on, Baldwin! You have to turn around! Basila and I can't survive in fire!" Icarus whispered, careful not to wake up his partner.

Baldwin continued to ignore him.

Icarus bit his bottom lip. His hands were making Baldwin's warm mane wet with his sweat!

"Will we be safe there?" Icarus asked finally.

 Baldwin cared. He cared enough to go back for Basila!

Icarus had to believe that the horse was smart enough not to put them in danger.

Baldwin neighed twice.

Continuing to swim in the lava. Resurfacing every so often to take a breath of scorching air.

0000

Icarus was jousted awake when Baldwin shook himself clean of the lava.

The boy blinked, looking around.

He had expected a desolate landscape. Fire and brimstone.

But before him was the Steppe! Just like his father had always described it!

He sighed.

Well, that was that. He was dead. Baldwin had probably cooked in the lava.

Everything was over, and he was…

Basila snuggled into him.

He sighed once more. He had dragged Basila into the Steppe with him. She was dead as well, and…

Wait, Icarus thought! Basila was a Blood Elf! There was no way that she'd be let into the Steppe!

"Baldwin?" Icarus asked, as he looked around. The endless grasses were surrounded by mountains. Even the sky looked real! "Are we still in the dungeon?"

Baldwin neighed twice.

"So," Icarus continued, as he shifted on his mount. Man, he really needed to stretch his legs. He was starting to lose the feeling in them.

And he needed a saddle. His behind hurt like hell!

"We're not dead?" He asked, as he slowly began to get Basila to sit in front of him, so he could lower her down.

Baldwin's neigh was like laughter. But he did neigh twice!

"Baldwin, you are a treasure!" Icarus yelled. Only to hear a yawn.

"What? Where? Ah," Basila was looking him in the eyes. She took a hold of one of his pointy elven ears and tugged. "You real?"

"You cavewoman?" Icarus teased, only to need to jump off the horse, for Basila had one of her boots in her hands.

"You come back here!" Basila yelled, taking off her second boot. "How dare you call me that?"

Icarus chuckled, ducking to avoid a flying boot.

"What? Even the elves lived in caves, once!" He yelled, using the age-old argument more than one horselord had used to bring an elf's blood to boil.

"Icarus!" Basila's war cry was followed by another flying boot.

Baldwin began to graze. It was none of his business.

If the princess was in danger, he was going to step in. If not, they could deal with this by themselves.

Ah, mating rituals, the horse thoughts, why did they need to be so strange?