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Swooping above thrashing, frothing ocean tides, and dipping through swirling channels of frigid, frost-bitten wind, Hector arrived from patrol- pulled by the echo of voices and the promise of life. His enormous figure twirled and danced towards the narrowed bridge now binding the desert to the mainland; riding artfully upon bent, burning-red wings, and reaching down with hard, neat hooves. Towards the southernmost part, where ruined, strewn boulders began to level into parched earth and sand, the soldier landed and began to gallop. Long, glossy feathers rippled like stiff streamers through the breeze of his movement, and each glorious appendage attached was high with pride.
Hector was home; fiercely loyal and longing for the weight of work.
Snippets of a gathering filled his mind, wavering illusions crafted by the mischievous mind of a Boggart. The Diviner who had served their herd well (he thought); relaying the warning of the God of the Sun and thus saving them from the darkness- she was present, cloaked, perched upon rock. There was another beside the one-winged Oracle, electric-blue forked across one eye and snaking back like a tattoo across her neck; she was small, brawny, but many of the Throat’s Pegasi had been of similar physique. The pair stood before a face he knew not, and the tawny tri-bred’s stoic expression stiffened with concern. He thought of Kri and of Midas, searching his bonded’s thoughts for any trace of familiar brethren- of Rasta even, so meek and mute. But he could not find them.
Harder, faster, the soldier urged his legs on and sweat soon speckled his shining, thin coat.
As he neared them, he could feel the closeness of Veci grow like an improved pulse through his heart; a supportive thrum in his mind. He slowed, long muscular tail whipping lose crimson tendrils to snap with anticipation at his rear, and fiery eyes surveyed guardedly the few grouped together; taking the time to absorb the unfamiliar grey from behind, to study the expression of the blue-accented mare beside Africa. Another had joined them by then, Cera (though only his face was remembered) and it was he whose flank the giant move to stand beside, curiously and cautiously; breeze still able to wash freely between.
"Hector." He announced, nodding towards the old-Diviner, before offering to each other a chivalrous half-smile.
"Soldier, always, of Dragon’s Throat."
Cunning and keen, he presumed then that Gaucho, perhaps Midas too (though he had spoken with his painted ‘brother’ barely a week ago) had been lost to the plague- certainly it never crossed his mind that either would disband.
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[O] Celebration of the Sun - Herd Meeting
