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Her small, slender form seemed to fit snugly against the bulge of Hector’s barrel, though he could feel her tension building, the stiffness of her unconvinced stride beside him. It offered him little pleasure to feel such nervousness, to know it perhaps stemmed from his decision to aid her, but ultimately he wished only for her safety and wellbeing- certainly not fear or harm. Russet eyes narrowed suddenly though as short blunt lashes tightened across them, bewilderment spilling across his otherwise stoic expression. He thought to pause, to turn and study her soft creamy face more thoroughly, but common sense pushed on the humble rhythm of his controlled gait.
Rasta had asked if still he was clothed in red... The stallion drew a breath and his skull tilted so the eye nearest to her wandered back.
"What do you mean?" He probed cautiously, not exactly certain whether or not she had by then lost her mind. He thought carefully, broodingly and mid-stride glanced to be certain.
"As red as a desert dust storm..." He clarified, confused, and stretched ahead his neck so that she might see still a little better that he had not by some miracle, changed.
She seemed to pant between thoughts, to gasp to fill her small lungs with the hot, brackish air embracing them, and Hector slowed a little more in fear of her passing out, or worse. Though he wanted to push her, to whisk her into the arms of the oasis’ bountiful shade, he took still a more delicate approach with his herd-sister.
"All are here." He replied quickly, desperate to ease whatever trouble choked her mind. Though many had lost their way home during the time of darkness, all of those Rasta asked about now of had indeed returned to Dragon’s Throat... Again he wondered silently just where on earth she had been.
"They are fine, in good health." He soothed, trying enormously to douse his gruff masculine tone in tenderness. He would not tell her yet of those missing, he did not want her to worry.
The oasis loomed near. The prospect of shade, of the sweet clear waters of the throat, overwhelmed his mind briefly and he realised all at once that he had not paused to quench his thirst for nearly an entire day. He had taken the night shift- though hours were long anyway while so few of his comrades remained, and worked without rest to make certain the border remained secure. His tongue licked eagerly between loosely batting lips, eyes sparkling beneath the spill of bright afternoon rays, and he remembered that his company needed to drink soon.
Hector could feel the heat radiating horribly between them and could only imagine her discomfort if already she felt ill (still he was not convinced that simple fatigue was her woe). Tawny ears swivelled as she paused, waiting and dancing again to attendance as she insisted suddenly that she could walk- without him.
"Forgive me..."
He released her against quickly, against his better judgement. Long feathers turned golden as the light spilled beneath while the wing drew promptly upwards and out from her side. They had barely metres left anyway, between their position in the sand and the Throat.
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