Trepidation coursed through the veins of the young stallion pacing the sands, a shimmer of sweat clinging to the lean muscle of the athletic male as he scuffed the sands beneath the heat of the sun. Images were burned into his mind, of a falling pegasus dying on an island of peace, drawn in smoke and clinched in fateful truth by the intervention of his Lord. There was no doubting the sudden drop of flames, the smoldering of the coals, the prickle of warm magic against every fiber and hair on Cera's body. Worry gnawed at his heart, knowing the time of peace was shattering, fracturing beneath the weight of Helovia like splintering ice too thin for treading. And like naive children, they were unaware, skating along and believing the ice to hold them forever. Oblivious to the impending fracture, the submersion into piercingly frigid waters. Cera only wanted to save them from such a fate.

But it had been seasons since he had last sparred his father, the fellow soldiers beneath his sire's command. Even longer since he had fought for his very life in the shadows of the north-eastern forest past their borders, blow to blow with his father's imitator. How was he supposed to help his herd in the thick of whatever was coming for them? His rank granted him the ability to convene with the Lord of Light, to build and craft to physically aid his people. But the little believer did not think it was enough. No, he had to be stronger. While the fractures lengthened, spider-webbing across the ice, he had to train. Prepare. There was only one soul he trusted to begin that process, and as Cera's thoughts began to slow and unwind as they reached the end of this yarn of contemplation, pacing hooves too began to slow and reach a halt.

Verdant oculars swept over the sands before turning and setting an easy jog towards the oasis, where Hector was sure to be in the high heat of the afternoon. As he approached, vocal chords reached forth to be used, spying a familiar large shape alongside the shore. Seeking his name, he called out. "Hector!" There was a degree of shame, of self-hatred that accompanied seeking out the hybrid for such a thing. He had been the one to encourage Hector to find his own path, even if it meant leaving the one he'd soldiered along on for most his life. But it was only a spar, surely it could do no damage to ask? As he approached, Cera's young face was earnest and stricken with the burden of knowledge. Naivety was a gift at times, one Cera could not indulge in as Diviner. "The God of the Sun has given me a sign. There is trouble approaching, a death on the island. Please, I cannot rest knowing I am so rusty with my father's new allegiance. Will you train with me?" Even then he was preparing body, creeping along the water's edge with stiffened wings and hammering heart. Praying he was not as helpless and rusty as he feared.

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Word Count: 519

Setting: High noon at the edge of the Oasis in the Dragon's Throat. No wind, high temperatures, very dry.

Unlimited response time for this spar please!

@[Hector]