Baradeer

Weary, but hardly beaten, the elderly warrior picked a slow path along the land bridge. It had been years since he had last set hoof upon the scorched sand of the desert – a decade at least. In his younger years he had served fiercely in the army of the Sun, and cloaked across his thinning frame was tough leather armour that had both witnessed and worn the bloodshed of many a brutal battle.

It was because of his beloved armour that the old stallion had returned.

There was no reason for the veteran to pause by the borderline. Tattered golden wings – once feathered gloriously and thrilled by the touch of swirling thermals - drooped tiredly alongside fumbling legs that were coloured the same; his proud Pegasus bloodline was ancient, ancestors that perhaps none of the youth guarding the land now should remember. He moved towards the oasis without hesitation and his dignified skull was perched boldly atop a lean lifted neck.

When he sank at last beneath rich green foliage and thick, welcome shade, old Baradeer drew a deep breath. From spluttering, ailing lungs a call erupted – croaky though firm – and another like he, emerged from the sands. The second stallion too was well past his prime. Thin wiry mane sprouted only in sparse tufts along his bowing crest, and his face was pinched by years of experience. Their kinship was obvious, brothers in arms, and four wings lifted in ceremonious greeting.

“Brother it has been too long...” the second greeted warmly.

“No words have been truer, Madarlon. It lightens my tired heart to find our home still standing... Pray tell me though brother, what has happened to the northern border?”

“A great sickness spread through Helovia, and every able body fled to the underground. Any remaining perished (it was the truth – mostly...), and when we surfaced all had changed.”

The old soldier was astonished and gasped, coughing hoarsely as his lungs choked on fluid.

“You have seen better days,” the second sighed grimly, confronted unexpectedly by his brother’s mortality. They had survived much together, but this grip of disease was feral, frightening.

Baradeer nodded – death loomed, but he had enough strength left for these final few tasks.

“It is a short visit only.” he explained, and both were aware that there would be no second return. “You have studied the lads today, the warriors standing in our stead? Tell me, is there one whose flame burns more fiercely than the rest?”

“Aye, brother. He is a she...”

“A what?”

“A sister...”

The weary soldier’s brow furrowed as he considered the revelation. What kind of generation was this, young and reckless – during their service, no woman would ever have been considered for battle. He grunted...

“Then I expect she would need it even more. Help me, Madarlon. Peel this leather from my skin.”

Old bones and lethargic muscles worked together to remove the weathered armour from Baradeer’s body. As it fell to the gravelly-soil with a thud, the soft breeze chilled his damp, sweaty pelt. He drew a sombre breath and touched his beloved leather one final time, and a lone tear glinted in the vivid sunlight. Goodbye, old friend... he whispered against it before turning again to his brother.

“See that it is fitted properly won’t you?”

The second stallion nodded, swallowing hard. “Where will you go now?”

“I fear this body’s strength is already failing. I will make haste towards the north, to the Heavenly Fields where my bones might bleach in honour of our father Sun. Pray brother...” Again his frame was wracked by a harsh, hacking cough, “...that I arrive...”

In fond farewell, the stallions' wrinkled lips touched together. Baradeer turned then, and slipped slowly back through the foliage the way he had come; leaving behind his adored Dragon’s Throat and his armour, for the final time.