I drift along the sea, my belly illuminated by the refracting blue light of the waters below, the wind capturing mane and wake alike to spray them against the subtle robin’s egg tint of the sky. Broad and hungry for the breeze, my wings hold my bulk in the heavens, drifting and beating as I follow the line of the water devouring the land; Skýlos runs beneath me, her speed gaining with each daily run, the young muscles that cover her body developing along with her bones at such a rate that she generally wakes taller than when she had lain down.

The dog sleeps far more than I do; I have spent many hours guarding her while she dozes, her white tipped paws flailing at the air as if she chases some specter through her dreams. We are here this afternoon because she has finally roused herself enough to wish to play – and I have no such patience for her sharp teeth or raucous barking. This way, we both can enjoy the light sun of the winter afternoon and she will sleep again for another few hours before I can continue on with my searching for women that are apparently not in this land.

I feel a tug of heavy curiosity below me, a strange sensation that twists my emotional responses against my will and forces my eyes to whatever it is that Skýlos is now barking at. A dark silhouette stands on the beach, too many horns atop his head for me to bother counting them, and my dog is hauling at top speeds towards him, her ears lifted in good humor and pink tongue lolling out across her white and vicious little ivories in between her sharp and playful barks.

A sigh escapes me, a gentle push of my own emotional responses to the idiocy of puppies reaching out towards the joyously bounding pup below, and she comes to a sliding stop amidst a cloud of spraying sand and dust as I circle lower to the beach. Pulling my wings to my sides and angling my forelimbs towards the earth, I descend to the ground with all the grace I have been bred for, cloven hooves absorbing the already sand-dulled shock of the impact and long, lion’s tail wrapping about my frame for balance.

I’ve placed myself between my twit of a companion and the dark stranger, proud features rising to watch his wandering down the shore with disinterested light so long as he leaves myself and my dog be; after all, he is a male, and one without wings. He is not worthy of attempts at conversation so long as I can persuade the puppy to turn back down the opposite way of the beach.

Cealestis