It had been a week or so since Andromeda first returned with a heavy heart, weighed down by the knowledge Kri could not be found anywhere. If only she had been more careful; if only she had kept a better eye out. She put the blame upon herself, even though her leader was more than capable and strong as dark diamond. It was not her fault, precisely, Kri had been stolen. But she flew nearly nonstop above the desert, always watching, always wary, of the force that took her leader coming back for more.

At first, time passed peacefully in the welcoming velvet of the star-strewn sky.

She was flying when she saw them, the many members of the Aurora Basin swarming like oh-so-many ants over her beloved home embraced in the welcoming presence of night. It broke her heart, and steeled her mind. For a long time Andromeda had believed their enemy was great in strength; but she had not thought they would be so audacious as to roam down from their winter halls to the hot palaces of the Throat. For a moment, the graceful woman continued her flying, her ills eased by the familiarity of this sky, the rustle of her wings beating against the wind. But even as she flew, her gut wrenched and twisted. No, she could not let them down, her dearest family and the mighty Kri. Andromeda is not a coward who flees at the sign of battle, the Sergeant tells herself. Courage is doing the terrifying acts, no matter how afraid you might be, no matter how your heart flutters like a startled bird and your mind cannot quite collect its fragmented thoughts.

The stars gleam and glisten, on her ebony coat and dark velvet wings, and in the sky. How the mare wishes the Sun God was here, strong of heart, to be able to steel her faith. But what if... what if he has truly abandoned them? Does she go to fight for a land without its patron? Where is Kri, the mighty and strong? It is she who would rally them, sing her battle cry. But the Resolute is gone. Where is Midas and Hector? They are needed here... to rally the troops when Kri is missing. But in the writhing mass of dark bodies, she does not know if they are there.

Andromeda pulls in her wings, and tips forward into a swift dive, even as the cold clouds cover the wisp of a moon at its highest point. The wind roars in her ears, and she is fearful that the darkness is an ill omen as she prepares for battle. But even with her mind nervous and on edge, she realizes that her obsidian coat will blend in quite well with the darkness. How lucky she is to have camouflage! The element of surprise is on her side today. As she plunges downwards, her eyes pluck out a shape amidst the many, one unadorned by a defender. Even as she falls, two hundred feet, a hundred feet, she takes in his details swiftly. He is a unicorn; she will have to be careful about the sword on his head. Of course they are all unicorns. She is a pegasus, winged and one of the sky, light and agile. The gray, the Reaper, though she knows his legend not, is smaller than her tall, graceful and muscled build. It is this staunch build that forewarns her he is a formidable opponent; it is his darkness, the hardness in his empty eyes.

Falling, falling, falling.

Closer, closer, closer.

Her wings snap open, the pressure on them enormous as she extends them to full length, the wind shrieking about the edges of her sleek feathers. Bracing her legs, she hopes to land on his very back, with her head gripping his horn and hooves snapping on delicate spine. She would rather take him out in one blow than have to go through the fight, so she may be able to help the others of her herd not faring as well.

If he moves- which the Sergeant prays he will not- her legs might crumple beneath her on the sand at the border of the Throat. At least the sand will cushion her maybe-fall.

Get out, invader, Andromeda thinks; this is our home, and you will not steal it without fight; for the Dragon Throat will fight to the last bloody breath before relenting hold to your damned Northern hooves.

They cannot win.
They WILL NOT win.