Madarlon

A dark shadow passed across the dying soldier as he slipped into the distance. A majestic eagle perhaps – he had not the strength left to look.

Madarlon noted the silhouette of the Pegasus flying overheard, but paid it little interest – many came and went these days through the desert, and his eyes were set anyway upon the vanishing form of his old friend. It was only when the sound of rumbling words broke the shell of silence surrounding, that the haggard bay veteran ventured around.

A mare had appeared, and he cursed quietly his weary ears for not noticing her sooner.

Long, wasted legs creaked and groaned beneath his shifting weight, and despite the agony of arthritis ringing through each joint, the stallion smiled warmly. They were so similar - he thought – and that was part of the reason for the choice he had made. Though cataracts clouded their caress, earthy-brown eyes looked fondly and openly around her sleek bay frame.

Like him, she was small in stature, thin boned and set across neat, narrow hooves; though one remarkable difference stood out (apart from the division of years) - the scars patterned all over his bony body. It was a network so complex and beautiful that even the shag of his fur could not mask it.

“Megaera...” he breathed humbly, tempted to brush withered old lips across the supple warmth of her cheek. Madarlon swayed for a moment where he stood and memories that still seemed so fresh, flooded his mind. Times of vigour and grandeur, both of which had not been seen in Dragon's Throat for many years. Whiskered nostrils inhaled deeply, sucking the fading plume of desert-dust deep into his lungs.

How he would have loved to be so young again...

“All is well warrior-child of the Sun.” But as he turned his gaunt face to view her from a better angel, he noted quickly the ridged line of her stance. Furred ears swivelled forward curiously. “Does something trouble you?” he asked, frayed feathers ruffling as he lifted each of his tatty wings to rest above the dip of his sagging spine.

The sun’s touch was a blessing indeed, but the old stallion’s coat no longer thinned to prepare for Tallsun’s heat – it had not done so for many summers. Sweat leaked from gaping pores, staining brown shoulders and flanks black, and each breath grew heavy with fatigue as they lingered in the open.