"You have to run, child. Do you hear me? Take your cousins, take whoever you can, and run to the Throat and stay there. Go!"
Her mother's voice was quiet, a soft whisper filled with burning desperation, whips of sharp encouragement in the flesh of her ears. She stares back and feels confused, her black eyes vacant in the glittering mist, Natraj whining as he winds around her hocks. Go? Why go? She wants to cry, but her mother's gaze tells her to be silent, be strong, that there will be no more discussion and it's time to take control.
She turns away. Behind her, her mother murmurs something she has never heard before.
"I love you."
The fire child's heart skips a beat, and she runs.
---------
She is falling through space and time, her body ablaze with the fire in her veins. The desert is vibrant with stars and the sky, silver beneath the waxing moon; she is a streak of glorious flame, a messenger of the gods sent to herald war and clamor for safety. Natraj runs ahead of her, ears spread wide and tails erect, seeking for sound or scent of the strangers who live in this place. She has brought all the others she could find, children too young to fight - yea, a fight. Kali had told her, flying overhead until they reached the desert's edge, her voice soothing in the child's mind. The gryphon's wings as wide as her cast a soothing shadow as Tandavi ran, but now Kali was gone, returned to her mother to fight by the midnight mare's side, and Tandavi and Natraj were alone.
They stop, hooves casting a veil of sand as she digs them into the ground. Deep breaths, heavy and fast; they had found nobody, but somebody must be here. Her mane sits heavy upon her poll, tail too much for her to bear. Be strong. Black eyes glance back to where her cousins have followed her - she hopes. And then, ahead into the abyss.
"Help." Her voice is soft, tired and strained, an echo of a cry from a winded pipe. "Help!" Louder now, she casts her head high and calls into the wind, Natraj's howl giving the cry strength. She thinks she can hear wings but she could be wrong; she thinks she can smell them, taste their magic crackling upon her tongue, but maybe she cannot. Maybe nobody will come, and this voyage was for naught. Maybe she is alone.
Her eyes burn bright with irrepressible fire. Fuck no.
"HEY! They came to our home, and you guys promised to help! Now fucking come out here and do something!" Her mother would chastise her for the language. She doesn't give a shit
[ ooc || For ranked members of the Throat and any foals from the Edge. There is no posting order. ]
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