Megaera

Strength was for the young, and Megaera had her share of it, a small share some might say, but it was all she had to use. She had first entered Helovia at three, still stunted and scrawny, now beginning her fifth year, she had truly left adolescence behind. The earth-colored coat shone like a mudslick as she darted through clouds. Each time she passed through, she emerged dripping from the concentrated condensation. Between the wind and the warm sun it took her only minutes to dry each time and she dipped in and out all the way home from the Sky Island.

The little sky-showers cleaned and cooled her body quickly, but it took nearly the entire flight back to the Throat to clear her mind. As her sultan’s only defender against a wash of accusations, Meg had been ready to fight, ready to die, in his defense, in defense of what she knew to be right. But then of course what did she really know about anything? Her ignorance, her impulsivity, had been plastered on her face and in her words for all to see. She often felt a mild twinge of jealousy for Hector’s strength, for Gaucho’s, but her size had never shamed her the way her actions had. That horrid bubbling pit of inadequacy had boiled as she left the island and it had taken that long flight to simmer down to a firce determination to do better, be better, and all for Dragon’s Throat.

It was wisdom that she still must learn. The little warrior had scars, each a lesson, and they would be joined by more before she could call herself wise.

The sight of the Oasis was a relief, wings quickened in a final burst of speed as it came into view. She would rest a few hours, safe in the embrace of her herd and then she would begin. She would seek out spars with her brothers sure enough, Hector and Einarr, but she’d look for more than that. Perhaps she could talk to Tandavi, find out more about her own magic, or to Alija about healing. She wanted to know everything, to be everything so that she could always protect the Throat, protect her family and never be caught again like some silly child.

The two figures caught her gaze, and the sight of armor had her mind flashing to battle, to invasions. But no, the armor was coming off and the two stallions looked as old as the Blood Tree. One she had seen before but never spoken to, just an old man in the herd and never a threat so she’d paid no mind. The other was a stranger, but he looked even older and before she descended to investigate, he had turned to leave. She did not pursue the unknown stallion, but watched his gold frame fade as she landed nearer his companion. It never entered her mind that he should be hindered, something about him on the desert sands just looked so right.

After a minute’s watch, she turned to the other stallion and spied gain the discarded pile of leather and metal on the ground. Something about the scene felt suddenly sad to Megaera, like she was intruding, so when she spoke it was rather soft for her deep voice and she dipped her head to the old stallion. “Well met, ser. I am Megaera, of the Sultan’s corps. Is anything amiss here?”

faithful like a soldier