The bloodrider had taken his time returning from his afternoon patrols, and by the time his shadow danced over reddened sands the sun was nearly touching the horizon in the distance. With the wake of the Rift Wars barely behind Helovia, Einarr pressed harder and further on his patrols than what he was ordered to do. He felt obligated to keep the herd safe, for he had chosen it as his home. He felt even more obligated to keep his family safe, however. Mordecai, Nizho and Asavvi were his life blood. Megaera was his fire. Their existence and place in his life made him press harder into his duties than before--not that Einarr had been lackadaisical in his duties as a Guardian before them, but simply be just put more effort into his line of work (if that were possible).

Tipping his wing slightly the massive warrior circled around the desert once more. Burnt sienna eyes waved over the orangish sands, scouting for his family. He glided toward the oasis on a warm rift of air, knowing that Megaera liked to rest in the presence of the lake and his children (morso Nizho than Asavvi) liked to splash in the shallows. The boy was more brave than his sister, but the girl was proving to be quite insightful. She often murmured her ideas as Einarr tucked her against his side, grooming her feathers as he had done with Mordecai when she was her sister's age. It was not unusual for stallions of Einarr's upbringing to have many children and keep in close company with them, but it was unusual to show the affection he did towards his children. No matter how much he tried to mirror his father from what he remembered of his own foalhood, Einarr could not. It was Histe's fault. Seeing her try to rip Mordecai's tiny wing from her delicate shoulder had broken--or fixed--something inside of Einarr. The stallion would bleed and die for his children, but if they were to die they damn sure would know they were loved beyond anything else in this world.

He did not find his family by the shallows of the lake, but what he did find pulled his attention immediately. Tucking his wings in, the bloodrider descended to the presence of his Sultan, his Khal. M'athchomaroon Gaucho, hash yer dothrae chek?" The warrior spoke plainly to his leader their native language rolling off his tongue easily. His chest felt warm with the familiarity of the phrase, and a small smile threatened the sides of his lips. Einarr had been in Helovia quite a while now, and the majority of those he met spoke Helovia. It was refreshing when he could hold conversation with Gaucho, the Khal's children, or his own children, for they shared his  heritage.  , Relaxing his wings against his sides, Einarr trotted toward him and lowered his head in a respectful gesture. before straightening up again and planting himself square before the dun.

[M'athchomaroon Gaucho, hash yer dothrae chek? :: basically "Hello, how are you?"]