The funnels of sunburnt rock reminded the stallion of the cliffs which he was born. He glided through them now, looking forward to the day when his daughter would race alongside him. She was too little for it yet, her wings too fresh and not yet strong enough to lift her from the ground. But with the exercises she enthusiastically embraced, her strength would grow quickly, and she had told him her intentions of following him around on his patrols. He loved her dearly, and her mother, and despite the loss of his brother saddening him, he dutifully tore himself away from their comforting sides and patrolled the lands he was growing to love dearly. His great wingspan almost scraped the edges of the high walls of the great channels of stone, and he was reminded constantly of his homelands, the Cliffs. With ease he performed basic training moves a warrior should keep as a regular part of his regime, sometimes flying quite low to the ground, even allowing his hooves to gallop underneath him, sometimes climbing great heights, all within the confines of the rocky walls.

He constantly surveyed his surrounds, sometimes enhancing his own sense of smell to enable him to read the winds before his sights might spy another body. It was chance that as he exited the clutches of the rocky walls, a scent he found familiar tickled his nostrils, and caused a smile to wrinkle his handsome crown. Some time had passed between his first meeting with the youthful filly, and now he was to see her twice within a few days! He detected another scent, one that held some similar tones, perhaps a close relative? Allowing his sense of smell to return to its normal reach, he pumped his giant feathered appendages, and approached the large body of water, their saviour from the heat. On his approach, he loosed a long baritone of greeting, giving them sufficient warning of his approach. The waters were very inviting however, and instead of landing alongside them in the shallows, he continued flying over them, and with his strong legs plunging in first, created immense waves to run away from his diving form. Still with his wings outstretched, laughter rumbled in his chest as he splashed about him, relishing the cool water on his warmed hide.

"Ktulu!" He greeted the familiar one openly, happily. Though her companion was of different colouring, some similarities in their build suggested again what his nose had previously guessed, that they were related. Nearing them now, he pulled himself from the slightly deeper waters he had landed in, shaking the excess droplets from his obsidian hide. “Who is your friend?” He inquired curiously, looking at them both with kindness behind his eyes and a welcoming smile upon his lips. “I am Azzuen.” Nodding his cranium to both fillies, he introduced himself to the one he was yet to meet. “What brings you to the Throat?” Though he welcomed the idea that Ktulu was just here to visit him, or perhaps his daughter, he could sense a silent purpose to their arriving here today, which was why he voiced the question. “Still looking after my feather I see, Ktulu.” He winked playfully at her, eyeing the feather lodged in her mane with a fondness a brother might have for their smaller kid sister.

Suspicions were confirmed as the youthful one relayed her and her sister’s want for a land to call their home. Azzuen nodded happily, though he would have to confirm it with Kri, he had no issue whatsoever with allowing the girls to rest their hides in the Throat. They needed numbers, and he was pleased to hear that the belle had a yearning for battle, or at least, to get herself fit and trained. Being a warrior in the training ring was one thing, but actually putting one’s skills to the test was entirely another; this Azzuen knew, but was more than willing to teach. Hell, he thought that anyone with half a brain would want to keep themselves fit, even if all they did was learn how to run away – you still had to be fit in order to flee. And sometimes, fleeing is the only option. He thought darkly, randomly reminded of his own past, and even of the many refugees from Isilme that had travelled here, escaping the darkness that were the shades.

“Ophelia,” he addressed the pale maiden, tilting his chiselled crown to her cordially, “it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Honest hymns spoke in his rich baritone, a smile roughly edging the curve of his charred lips. “You are by all means welcome to call the Throat your home,” he stated amiably, before adding, “Kri is our Leader here, I am sure she would be glad to have gained two such enthusiastic members.” He suspected Kri would be venturing here soon enough, not much went by in her lands without her knowing, and Azzuen understood that her duties were many and vast, carrying the herd by herself was no easy task. The General was more than happy to meet and greet potential new members in her leave, as well as his usual duties of patrol and caring for his family. “I’d be more than happy to take you under my wing, Ktulu.” He said kindly, easily offering his warrior’s knowledge to her. Indigo eyes alighted to Ophelia then, and he politely questioned, “do you also desire to learn the warrior’s dance?”

It was an open question, emphasized by the curious incline of his cranium, his eager ears asking for the quiet belle to speak some more about what was on her mind, in her heart.