The oppressive heat of the Earthen Furnace hung heavy around Nazgul and Khamûl, each step an effort as they navigated the lava-lit caverns. But even the searing air did little to prepare them for the next trial—a shrill, jeering and childlike call that sliced through the crackling silence.

“HEY, COURSER!”

Nazgul’s ears snapped back as a small, impish figure darted into view. Soon, several others joined it, grinning with cherubic faces that belied the mischief and malice dancing in their eyes. They crowded around her, hurling insults in taunting voices that seemed to echo off the walls of the Furnace.

“Nice plaits, pony!”
“Bet you can’t run fast enough to catch us!”

Nazgul’s patience thinned with each mocking word. Her tail flicked irritably, and that was all the encouragement the imps needed. One darted forward, yanking at her plaited tail and cackling as it scurried back. Another hurled a pebble that bounced off her leather armor, while the rest erupted into fits of laughter. Khamûl floated beside her, his ghostly hand forming signs of caution, though his transparent fingers quivered with irritation.

Steady, he signed, his attention flicking between Nazgul and the imps.

But Nazgul had had enough. With a furious snort, she lowered her head, nostrils flaring as a fire ignited in her eyes. She took a slow step forward, her hooves scraping against the rocky ground, and the imps paused, their jeers faltering at the sight of her intense, unyielding stare.

Then, in a blur of motion, Nazgul charged, her powerful legs pounding against the stone as she barreled toward the imps. They shrieked, scrambling over one another in a panicked bid to escape her wrath. She lunged, her teeth snapping close to one imp’s tail as it narrowly darted out of reach, its cherubic face now twisted in genuine terror.

The imps scattered, scrambling up ledges and ducking into crevices, their jeers turning to shrill cries of alarm. Stones clattered to the ground as they dropped whatever they’d been throwing, desperate to get away from the fierce blue roan courser who had shed any pretense of patience.

Nazgul skidded to a halt, her sides heaving, the imps’ taunts now only faint echoes down the passage. Her ears flicked forward, eyes narrowing as she watched their retreat. She let out a final, triumphant snort, satisfied as their laughter faded into silence.

Khamûl hovered beside her, his ghostly hand forming a slow, impressed sign.

Nice.

Nazgul shook her head, snorting again as she resumed her pace. She didn’t expect them to be the last nuisance she’d encounter here in the Furnace, but for now, the path ahead was clear—and quieter.