Solomon was always so much more nimble than Medallion. Even back in the good old days, when Med had been thinner, Solomon had a flexibility about him that made his knees spring like a goat on inclines like this one. His hooves could slant sideways like a goat, too. Med suspected he could walk vertically if he had to. All that, and the audacity to be tall. Bastard.

As it was, Sol had already made it to the ledge above. His pink nose was all Med could see peeking out over the lip of the rock. Trying not to look, ah, Med grumbled under his breath. Doesn't wanna embarrass me. That would be rude. Prick.

Then, the tremors began.

What the fuck! Med braced his wide hooves, barely keeping his balance as the moss-covered rocks beneath him gave way.

Medallion?! Solomon's voice, calm but urgent, could barely break through the rumbles.

At first, Med couldn't answer. He was too busy building strength in his hindquarters to leap from ledge to ledge -- or shoulder to shoulder. Finally, the figures stabilized, and he could see the curious face of one rock golem peering at him as he sprawled himself stable on its friend's collarbone.

I'm all right, he called up, his eyes never leaving the golem's. Just woke up some big fellas.

He lowered his head and his voice. Look. I'm sorry I missed the Do Not Disturb. But my pal's up there waiting for me. If you give me a hand, this can all be over fast and you can go back to sleep.

For a few seconds, the giants were unsettlingly silent. Med kept his gaze level, careful not to look down. Then, a fist. Then, a palm.

One hoof in front of the other, Medallion stepped onto the golem's hand. Thanks. I owe you one.

In the cool breeze of the giant lifting him up to meet Solomon, a sensation occurred to Med: the nervous sweat dripping down his flank.