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12-17-2012, 07:22 PM
I'm coming home. There is the quiet beat of my wings as I fly in the skies high above the earth, circle downwards the slightest of adjustments, catch thermals and leap onto downdrafts that send me shooting towards the mountains ready to pierce me. Will my herd have missed me? Did they know I had been gone for so long, captured by the ex-Edge? Or did they think I had abandoned them? Evers and Archibald had not sent parties after me to save me. Dear gods, did they miss me? My wings flash a beat downwards. They may be a sparkling white now, but they are still my wings, still huge and ready to glide and fly and spin and dive after years of war practice. The upstroke is firm and unyielding. You can hear the thump of my massive wings for quite a while off the echo of the mountains tall. My home is wet and soggy from the snow melt, but it is my home. I land softly, as always, with a flare of my wings and a slight rear, dropping to my forelegs.
"Foothills! It is I, Svetlana, coming home!" I call. I want to hear their voices and smell their scents, see them, and know they have not been eradicated by the Basin inhabitants. I want to see my herd. There is a squelching sound as I begin to pace through the muddy pit, wet black mud splattering my legs as I trot back and forth. Who will be first? Have they taken care of Nayati?
"Foothills! It is I, Svetlana, coming home!" I call. I want to hear their voices and smell their scents, see them, and know they have not been eradicated by the Basin inhabitants. I want to see my herd. There is a squelching sound as I begin to pace through the muddy pit, wet black mud splattering my legs as I trot back and forth. Who will be first? Have they taken care of Nayati?
[Wow that post looks short without a table.]
