It was as if their very heartbeats had been infected with the pulse of the dance, possessed that they were as they so naturally mingled with this maiden. With ease the brothers could see why Mirage had been drawn to her, why she belonged so obviously with the Qian – with them. The winged femme seemed to behave in a manner that suggested they were connected by something that ran deeper than blood – suffice it to say, the boys were attracted to her and her addictive display of athletics.

The trio danced now, one a shadow of the others, one a body of flame, one the light that flame cast – light that could not exist without shadows to bounce off, or fire to start it. Though they had been complete before as just brothers, their circle had widened a fraction, and smoothly welcomed the creamy Couth into their midst. It was natural for them to accept one who saw the world the way they did so swiftly, very few did meet their standard, for they were raised amongst very strong individuals, and were very strong individuals themselves, few others meant more than a fleeting meeting to them. But they were in Helovia now, and had committed themselves to the Qian, to their sister and her cause – as had this mare.

They weaved and darted, ducked, bucked and sprung into the air – alone either one of them would have looked silly, stupid, but because they were together, not only as brothers, but with this mare also, their actions seemed to hold a deeper meaning. They felt the waves of moonlight invade their flesh and mind, they let it wash through them with reckless abandon, the stallions trusted the Goddess of the Moon, for she had not led them astray in their life yet. This evening, she had led this gracious mare to them, who were they to question her motives?

The dance was vigorous, and the stallions were fit, healthy and strong warriors. Though their moves may not have been well-practised or refined, they were still co-ordinated and held some primitive structure and purpose, they danced usually in spar, trying to see who could overpower the other one sooner. Inevitably they were too evenly matched, each knowing the others moves and habits far too well, that they were forced to retire after many hours of neither one rising as victor. But it was a clear indication of how well they might have worked together in battle, this dance, for their actions complemented the others, each giving just enough to easily divert the attention to the more graceful move, or the slightly harder exercise. In battle this could be translated as distraction techniques to allow the other to land a more powerful attack, or to escape from a potentially deadly strike. With everything they did, there were undercurrents of warfare.

But even warriors grew tired, and the steeds did not feel like collapsing in an exhausted heap tonight. Thick mane and tails were slashed against their napes, flanks and hocks, and the stallions came to a standstill, their positions now on either side of the Pegasus, their final move a smooth bow to the femme, almost as if they were presenting her to a cheering audience upon a stage framed by moonlit curtains. They felt her wings upon their hides as they rose, and the brothers smiled at the action, revelling in the shivers her touch caused within them. Sweat had wet their hides, under the pale light a sheen could be seen on their otherwise midnight pelts.

Madyrn, always the one unable to sit still for long, reached out a crimson foreleg and began pawing at the earth, despite the fatigue that slowed him down, he was eager for more action. Maskan held a smile upon his lips as he watched his brother, but then both sets of sunlit eyes were upon the mare, Couth. “You dance well.” Maskan’s voice spoke first. “The moonlight is kind to your physique.” Madyrn’s rumbly tones added to the initial compliment. Both steeds now crept closer to her, each hoping to rub his muzzle against opposite shoulders, their whiskers tickling the joint that attached her wings to the rest of her bodice. They liked her, very much indeed.