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The flutter of wings and a rush of air. A Pegasus would know their own pattern traced in heaven from the moment primary feathers sprouted; but I had flown with this mighty steed enough to know who flew toward me. I knew the symphony of each heavy thump like my own heartbeat. Guacho. A favored desert son—and one of the few warriors that had remained loyal during all this shit. By moonlight I watched him land in an unusually rough manner, my smile of welcome fell short into the realm of caution as he huddled forward. Limbs lumbered weakly and with little direction. I closed the distance between us, my own hooves striking earth briskly in stark contrast to his large shuffles. Extending neck and thus muzzle I moved to scent him, searching in the dim illume for wounds that explain his…worrisome stature.
His companion watches me with those reptilian eyes, I spared a questioning glance in her direction when my nose turns up empty easy success. Fina moves along my spine into wakefulness, that orange neck slithers up and beak widens into a yawn. “Gaucho,” my friend said repeatedly, “Fail.” I met those proud eyes with a surprised stare, mouth opens and a single word is all that is allowed to come forth, “Nay,” I began, but the sentence is cut short. Behind Guacho someone had taken notice of our presence, a small alabaster female. Memory recognized her from gatherings, said inquire slides in for a more graceful landing than the taller warrior had managed.
I glance around his dun colored bulk and meet the woman with a small smile. Though she holds my gaze for a moment, I can feel that her attention itching to be placed upon our heartsick friend. “Good eve Sister,” I voiced, a simple response to a soft greeting. As far as intruding, or being alright? It wasn’t my place to answer either. I’m not really the one she was asking for pardons. Muzzle shifts back to his downcast state, “Why do you say fail?” I inquire gently. | |
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