It had been a late night among the cosmos and so when I woke with the bitter chill of autumn on my skin to voices crying softly, it was annoyance that launched me into this morning bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Frost had kissed me upon my brow and upon my lower leg, collecting delicately on my charcoal skin. Yet thanks to the thickness of my coat, I feel no cold, not in these brief moments before winter's enslaught finally materialized in all those long, painful months before the warmth of spring began. Even so, the grass was dry and brittle beneath my hooves, and overall the sensation of this early, dull gray morning was altogether rather unpleasant. Nevertheless, I was awake, and so it was about time to begin the fresh, monotonous morning rounds that I dutifully carried out with the sharp eyes of a hawk every morning for every day, even since before my promotion. I guess if I had to, I could easily pass off some of the patrols off. But to me, being a sergeant didn't just mean being ranked higher; every opinion was equal in our herd, and to me, I needed to set a good example for those who were, in the most roughest of terms, "below" me.

I was more experienced than any foal may be in the throat, and so I was well capable of taking off from the red sand I so detested without needing a boost of some sort. If at all possible, I preferred a great leap off a cliff, for the additional visual drama- and in case you did not recognize it, that was sarcasm, the last bit about drama, because the first part about cliff-jumping was true in all aspects. It was less strain on the wing muscles and less impact on our fragile legs as we pounded the ground trying to leap up high enough for a downstroke of our wings. Our wings, at their length, are rather larger than a bird- another example of sarcasm, please note- and require a good deal of flapping to get our rather unwieldy bodies off the ground, even taking in the consideration of the magic the gods have bestowed in us.

Anyways, I find myself rather rambling about the true point, that is which I get off the ground in some way or another, and begin my flight, the air warm and baked under my wings. Plenty of thermals to be found today; and soon I am coasting at ease, high above the little piece of red below, reveling in these precious moments before others flock to the sky. I do wonder what pegasi are called in groups, quite an odd thought to be thinking- if unicorns are blessings, and equines are herds, what, persay, would we be? Flocks sounds about right when we are up in the air- but on the ground? It sounds quite wrong. Soon enough my eye catch sight of two others gliding, early risers, and I drop down many feet and bank gently away from them, allowing them a great amount of room for wingspan and such.

"Morning," I call over the decidedly ignorant wind that tries to snare my words and drag them away.