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He left the glowing plateau quietly and thoughtfully, spreading apart his generous, gold-flecked wingspan and simply stepping from its rocky rim. He could hear the smooth voice of the God speaking on as he swept away through the twisting thermals, and felt strange new warmth tingled below his skin.
"What a blessing," he whispered into the buffer of wind, and even Veci agreed that his bonded’s golden God was indeed magnanimous.
As the rugged face of the mountain fell away, the sheer mottled expanse of Helovia spread out far below and Hector’s eyes fell down to roam between the shifting colours. He felt enlightened, almost as though the world upon which he now looked was different- far more beautiful, filled with fine detail that a soldier’s hectic schedule had not the time to notice. It saddened him that for such a long time he’d been so narrow minded; but he smiled all the same, quietly,
modestly; because now he was awake.
Only an hour or so later, they were gliding over the clay heart of Helovia. He thought at length about the network of tunnels that they’d called home; how uncomfortable he had felt during that time, and he stewed over the arrogantly inconvenienced perspective he had taken about it all. The stallion swallowed hard as guilt bubbled in his throat. If anything, now he realised how grateful he was that they’d been given both enough warning by their Lord to escape the Darkness, and a warm sanctuary in which to hide. He thought too, that the God of the Sun was forgiving and patient, because despite all of Hector’s ignorant transgressions in recent times (times when guidance had dwindled and purpose had been starved), He was still willing to help.
A soldier’s mind is small... he mused grimly to his companion, and Veci shrugged his invisible form as it sailed along to one side.
Perhaps not now? Hector glanced across to the Boggart, though his fire-red eye found only the bright blue face of heaven gazing back,
Indeed friend.
They passed the baron border of their homeland and began to sink. Hector’s exceptional wingspan tipped forward, and the feathers lining them rippled loudly against the gushing wind around them. He was skilled, fit and powerful, and landed in appropriate fashion; not slowing as sound black hooves reached for their purchase, but colliding with warrior’s precision- that which was needed on the warfront. Dust plumed in wake of his clattering stride and his joints carried him faithfully forward at a continued gallop; sustained momentum. The task of finding himself; of building a list of the things most precious, did not resolve readily in his war-centred mind, and he needed just a gentle shove in the right direction. He also didn’t want to return to the shrine of his mighty God empty handed.
Where are we going? the ghost questioned curiously, lazily, not bothering to probe the stallion’s mind for the answer like normally he might.
To the Fire of the Diviner... Hector told him, and they made haste through the lush oasis to find it.
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