Silence does not keep me long, for the wind blows gently across the tops of the grasses and flowers, leaving behind the faint scent of another. I am not weary, for it carries the same arid drift of the desert that I have just left, but instead of my own feminine curl, there is a distinct stench of male. I close my eyes, steadying myself for what is to come. I do not want to face the questions of my kin. I have no answers that would fall pleasantly upon their ears, but only the promise of more war and more bloodshed to avoid the worse of it. At least, by aiding the Grey, I could offer my warriors a choice. They did not have to stand and fight with me beside the twins of black and white, but they would not have a choice when Tio came to our borders with unfriendly faces.

I turn my head in the night, opening dark pools which glimmer with silver mystery in the moonlight, catching the ashen bay body of the stallion I faintly recognized as one of my soldiers. I knew their names, had pledged my life for theirs even if I did not, but setting his face with the list I knew well was a different story. I stare at him as he approaches, shuffling my body to face him, I let out an uneasy breath. There was a restlessness in his gait that I recognized all too well from my younger years. I had been a vivacious warrior, seeking out the ways of battle with all of my superiors. I often had my ass cleanly handed back to me, but I have always been enthusiastic about the fight. This lessened more with age as I became more tempered by time, responsibility, loss, and regret. Now, my heart still beat to the sound of war drums, but in the still moments of life outside of the field, my heart beat in time with those it was bound to protect: the children of our desert home, the Dragon's Throat.

This child, Note.

"Evening, Note," I say, my voice curling around his name confidently despite my relative unfamiliarity with the stallion. I do not believe we have personally spoken before now, and I often regret not having ample time to spend with each of our warriors. There was a faint wound which still resided on my heart when I thought back to Leander's callous opinions of my detachment from our family. While I was not always readily available for small talk, I was never far behind when danger lurked, guarding the backs of every soul who called the Dragon's Throat home. Was this not a form of attachment? It might be distant, for those who had never been placed in immediate danger, but it was real, passionate. I meant my words; I would protect them with my life. This, I think, is what unconditional love really is. "If you are as anxious to spar as you appear, then I suggest you get ready."

With a tug of my lips into a gruff yet tired smile, my blue eyes, such a mournful color, take on a new fire that gleams with a red tint not available in the painted lavender meadow of the night.

There is a moment between my words, their notes still clinging like dew to our surroundings, before I rush forth from my place, short, stocky legs carrying me with haphazard speed toward the right shoulder of Note, my own body parsing toward the right so that my left shoulder would hopefully bound into the more delicately built stallion, perhaps to throw him off balance. In the moment our shoulders would meet if my aim were true, my neck cuts through the air, turning my face back toward Note with an open mouth and vicious teeth snapping toward his cheek and ear, but he might find should the bite land I was being gentle. I am not fond of hurting my allies, which is why I typically avoided brutal attacks that can occur in a more serious fight. I have been injured by my enemies far too many times to count, but my allies have only injured me during my own stupidity. Lessons are best learned through your own blood sometimes, and the only time Note would this would be in moments of sheer idiocy that would lead to injury of his allies or himself.

This was a spar, but it was not for pain. When it comes to my family, I am nothing but a teacher.
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[ 1/2; 799 words. ]