It had taken Meg nearly two days to reach the falls, and for all that effort she had stayed there for maybe all of twenty minutes. Seeing Africa had been a pleasant surprise, but Meg had been far too focused on her mission to stay and play catch-up with the mare she’d only actually met a few times. Meg didn’t really know Midas all that well either, but he’d been polite as he’d ever been. It was that palomino bitch that had ruined everything. Okay, so in the strictest sense nothing had been ruined except for the warriors attitude, but Rasta, the mason, had been rude and catty and a downright bitch. To top it off, she’d even insulted Gaucho. Yes, Meg had had questions, had been impatient to have them answered, but if a missing and potentially injured Sultana was not the concern of a Dragon Soldier that what was?! AND she’d fucking apologized. It might have been a warrior’s arrogance, but she’d be damned if she was sorry for her rudeness now.

Megaera’s wings were straining, screaming in protest, but she would not let them stop or slow. She was almost to the Throat again, just a few minutes and she’d be back on the sand. The warm, dry, wonderful sand!! The Falls, even in the evening, had been humid and wet and the welcome she’d received (the bad easily eclipsing the good) was enough for the mare to write the whole blasted herdland off as completely horrid. If she had been quick on her way north, the journey south was like lightning. She flew faster than she ever had before and had stopped only once for water. It was grueling, but she had to complete her mission and so tested her endurance like never before.

She had hope to be able to catch up with Sohalia along the way, to see her first hand, and help her back home but NO! Between the Falls and the Throat were only trees, trees, and more trees that served to block her view of the ground. So, unable to catch a glimpse of the white dove, she’d flown in silence and simmered. The Hidden Falls… well her opinion of them was falling alright… They hadn’t sent a message, they hadn’t even tried to get word to the Throat, and they’d apparently stitched up Sohalia and sent her off ALONE, no guard, no escort, zilch. How. Fucking. Dare. They.

“GAUCHO!” she bellowed for her Sultan as soon as she crossed the sandy border into her homeland. She was lathered in sweat, thirsty, and hungry and sleep deprived but let the Sun God Take her if she’d delay for a second. She landed in a spray of sand, legs shaking and wings drooping and dragging behind her for the handful of steps it took her to come to a complete stop. “GAUCHO!” she yelled again and reached on her reserves of strength to for that ball of light in her chest and push it outward. The beacon went up, straight into the air, a white pillar still visible for miles despite the sunny Tallsun morning. When it receded, she couldn’t hake herself move, her legs were to stiff and she didn’t even know if she could lay herself down properly. He would just have to come to her.

- - -

Notes: Set before the SWP starts, round about 3.5 days after Meg left the throat (CAUSE SHE’S BOOKIN’ IT YO) Also, sorry for the Rasta-hating! That’s 100% Meg’s opinion.