| Dragon's Throat Soldier |
| Mare :: Pegasus :: 14.4 :: 4 |
| FennecFyre |
Aryel (December)
"Wait...what the--"
It was a miracle, at least in her mind, that Aryel had been able to fly after the fight she had gone through. Fuck Crowley, and fuck Dakini, she thought bitterly, flying in a shaky path south to the heart of the Throat. She had been trying to be polite to the arrogant mare, and then that ugly brindle had had to show up and open his ugly mouth and...ugh. While Dakini had been left with some nasty wounds of her own, including a dislocated hipbone, Aryel was suffering from slashes and bruises on her front end and a puncture wound on her side. Thank the gods for that healer in the Meadow, she thought. She was still sore, and exhausted, but without his assistance it might have been impossible for her to make the trip across the peninsula without collapsing from pain.
As the sun began it's downward plunge, after bursts of wobbly flight intermingled with stiff trotting, Aryel had finally caught sight of the Throat. It had given her the strength to finish her flight, searching from the sky for herd members, Kri in particular. The fight had made her realize something, that she relished going up against arrogant and cruel horses and making them suffer. And so the idea of becoming a soldier for the Throat, which had been rolling around in her head for some time, had finally come to fruition.
And there was Kri, a little dot below her. She tilted her wings into a circling descent, landing some distance from her leader. Just as diminutive as Aryel was, Kri nonetheless commanded a certain measure of respect from the blue roan, and not just because she was a higher rank. "Sultana Kri?" she asked, trotting towards her with a lowered head. "May I speak to you for a moment?"
"blah blah blah."
"WHAT IS THIS GYPSY MAGIC SH*T?!"
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Thanks for the good times, and no hard feelings for the bad times.
Vicer and Aryel's new threads never happened.
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