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Andromeda ascended gracefully, her wings stroking heavily downwards, the air thick as syrup underneath her ink-dark feathers. The struggle against gravity was not always easy, not always seamless and fluid, no matter how experienced one may become in the future, and the starry-coated mare was well-weathered in the art of flight. Why? The sky was a wild cat, large and languid and loving to bathe in the warm of the sun, but a predator; she was unpredictable and wily and when she bared her teeth and lashed her tail, all pegasi knew a storm was coming, a storm that would hid the heavens and strike the red earth with a bite of lightning that would scorch the earth black with soot. Up and up she climbed, wings twisting as they dragged her up into the realm of the pale blue heavens, to the graceful arching halls and swirling spires of clouds. Soon enough the earth turned small beneath her, the world so gracefully patched in reds and greens and blues.
Andromeda may not like the desert when she stood upon its red sand, but from up here, it looked spectacular, sharp and bright, vibrant.
Inhale and exhale she did, the mid-morning air crisp in her lungs. This morning she had awaken unusually late, due to an exceptionally late night. Even now exhaustion scratched at her eyes, but for the sake of her herd and for her responsibilities, she began her regular flying rounds around the Throat, gliding low as to avoid the other pegasi who soared about this time of bright, dewy morning. Once the rounds were completed, she stiffened out her wings, and began her descent to the lake, where she planned to bathe her feathers until they were glossy once more, rather than dust and dirt.
Twice her wings crimped up, twisted and curled strangely, due to an odd patch of cool air, before she rearranged her feathers and managed herself again. Nearing the end of her descent towards the red soil she so despised, she flared her great wings, backpedaling with quick, light strokes as to maintain her speed, hind feet resting on the earth before her fores fall, splashing into the cool water and sending gleaming droplets up onto her deep onyx coat.
With a gentle hum the mare entered, flicking her wings in and out of the water joyfully, preening at her feathers carefully, pulling the clotted grit and dirt out, entering chest-deep into the cold waters, plunging her head deep to toss it up, shaking out her dark mane. Its crisp, freezing temperature awoke her from the lethargy of this brisk Orangemoon morning. Sadly did she reflect that in only a week or so, to leap into the lake would be to invite hypothermia upon yourself. Winter was coming.
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[O] soldiers lined up like knives in a cutlery drawer [gaucho]
