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Through the blistering warmth of mid-afternoon, the tawny stallion trekked lethargically towards the bridge of land which now posed as the only route available to the flightless visitors, who wished access to Dragon’s Throat. The burning sand radiated heat around his passing body, drawing out thick pungent sweat which lathered thickly across his flanks, and caused his copper-red hide to dull. The weather was wearisome, though Hector had adapted well to the unrelenting dryness of the desert; his coat was thinner than those from the mainland and he utilised the massive expanse of his wings to cool himself, fanning air along the soaking sweat. It was home, and he could not feel settled in any other environment. To him, such a harsh day was quite normal.
Vibrant red eyes scanned the rolling dunes spread before him. The desert was unsurprisingly still while the bulk of the herd were resting in the shade of their lush green oasis, or bathing in the cool crystal waters of the lake. Really, the only fools to brave the elements with him, he knew, were those who did not belong; those who were none the wiser. It was these who Hector looked for now long-sufferingly, trudging ever north, on patrol while still the role of soldier had him trapped. For a long while the grand creature had been contemplating the monotony of his life; the grim reality of a future fighting and patrolling, and his past that had been much the same. Since the loss of his brothers- those who had faced the battlefront at his side, he found himself less motivated and not nearly as brisk as the job required. There were few accomplishments notched into his girth; no education, no experience beyond the army, and while for some time long ago he had served as the Throat’s Captain, Hector felt a yearning for something more.
He just wasn’t sure what that was...
Suddenly he was pulled from thought by the flickering image of a pale, creamy mare; a familiar face that hauled his skull from the sand, and his neck high once more between the slope of his powerful shoulders. There were many that had gone missing from the Throat, simply vanished into the Darkness which had plagued Helovia. Momentarily he wavered mistrustingly across his trembling, tired legs, questioning his partner Veci, whose naughty behaviour often took form of those closest to the heart. The Boggart pleaded his innocence though, and Hector broke into a long striding gallop, not the slightest bit deterred by the weight of the burning day.
He came quickly upon Rasta who had by then called out- something that took Hector again by surprise. The last time they had spoken, her voice had been missing, and they had foraged in the simplicity (and awkwardness) of complete silence.
"Rasta..." his lungs heaved, desperate for more than the hot air had to offer.
"You have returned. Are you well?" He looked carefully across her petite, feminine frame, searching for any sign that the illness of the wraiths had her crippled. To him she seemed well enough, but the stallion knew better by experience, than to simply presume.
"Come with me to the oasis sister..." His voice was still raspy, though the tone held a level of concern that generally lay far down beneath his thick skin. At once he lifted a wing across her delicate frame to shield her from the sun, and turned as though to take her home.
[Ooc: Riven has an identity crisis...]
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