Step after step, cold breath after cold breath, Fruizo of the Beast families, marched forward with the rest of the Supernovas, or so they had been deemed by their elders. A name that had come from a dream of a smiling, hairy face. Fruizo hadn't known what the name meant, or where his sudden skill in the spear had come from. He possessed no innate magical abilty, not like some of those whom he marched with possessed. His skill was on par with some of the others that had been sorted into the more physical side of the Novas, however, though some possessed more fearsome weapons.
The timid beast, reached across his body, left to right, to rub his upper right arm. Fruzio could feel the hardened, five inch thick plate of steel threaded wooden, wrapped in leather, fashioned into a small shield and strapped to his wrist, bump into his fingers as he rubbed up and down. A soft, cold sigh escaped his lips. He had no idea how long they had been in this frozen existence between the Allarian Multiverse and one inhabitated by the 'Angry-Rilla', or something close to the name. Words were hard for the cold anthromorph, though no one could remember what animal he had evolved from.
His large ears twitched, and brought him from his painstakingly crafted trance. He hated when that happened, it would take him days to get back to that point, longer still to settle into it. A clear indication of how long they'd been on the forced march to save their verse. Cold fingers gripped the shaft of his spear, his large ears had picked up a sound he had hoped he would not hear.
Silence.
His head darted around, his shielded wrist even lifting the bandanna and cap combination from his head, hoping that his eyesight would prove enough to pick up where his ears had failed. They didn't, nor his nose. His enhanced senses couldn't find the sight, sound, or smell of his comrades. Had he gotten lost already? A slightly panick set in, before his training kicked back in.
Deep Breath.
Fruzio's grip loosened on his spear, and his world calmed. Turning to his left, he could make out the ghostly figures of his comrades - still walking the ever-lasting path, with only one looking back.
The man with the bucket on his head.
If they were there, where was he? And why could the Classless One see him? Further still, why did he not move to act? With no magic, he surely could not expect Fruzio to free himself, could he?
With another sigh, this one loud, he took stock of his environment. While no snow was falling, the ground was packed hard with ice and the world was foggy with the common light gray, slight blue associated with cold. The type of tint one could see when they peered to the outside and could almost see the cold. Few trees darted the landscape, and the only river, almost two hundred yards to his back gushed quietly down its infinite path.
Fruzio patted the thin steel plate that protected his guts, and headed off towards where his associates were headed. Surely there was something that could place him back with his friends and verse saviors.
Still, in the back of his mind, he pondered why he had lost track of them anyway. Had his meditation been so thorough that he simply walked from formation, and kept walking until he was lost. Or had something took him from the group and placed him in the area, and if so, were there others.