Megaera

Megaera’s heart was sinking rapidly as she watched the grey mare’s reactions. Assuming, as she had been, that there was bad news to find and have to bring back to her Sultan, she read only that possibility into Africa’s reaction to their meeting. She’d heard nothing, or at least listened to none of the rumors that the reign of Sultanas following the reformation had been anything to be ashamed of. Ampere’s disappearance had been dubious, but Meg had assumed that Africa’s stepping down was only due to Gaucho’s return. I light of that, when the mare who had once been familiar seemed to shrink away (even under cheerfully dancing flames) Meg though only of the possible fate of The Transcended and the distress came before Africa could respond.

Meg’s ears flattened toward the back of her skull, and she, too, drummed her gaze to the ground below. She would still go to the other herds, ask, make sure she had the full story before she turned for home. And Gaucho! How on earth would she tell the Sultan she loved that one he loved had been taken from him? If she was the bearer of that news would he blame her for it?

The soldier was already so deep into despairing over her next task that it took a few seconds for her to realize that Africa’s words had completely negated the necessity for it. Her gaze flashed back to the other mare, the expression of dumfounded surprise splattered back across her face. “Sohalia..is…hhheeerrreee?” the words were slow, as she tried to reconcile their ramifications in her mind.

She had hardened herself for a week or more of brutal travel, had prepared for the bearing of ill news. While she flew she had been envisioning returning to the throat only for reinforcements for an assault on the Sultana’s captors to the north in the secretive Basin or to the far lands in the east. A mission for rescue or for vengeance. And now it was…over? Just like that? Once that thought settled itself in, there was a voice that told her to fly back to the throat immediately to report! But no, she needed more information than that, and if Africa spoke of her as just being generally ‘around here somewhere’ there didn’t seem to be any emergency that needed immediate action.

“Oh…Well then..” She started again, the fact that this was good news still trying to wedge itself in her brain. The tension that had made her grim started to ebb away, when all at once the hard smack of good sense finally caught up with her and her brain was again firing on all cylinders. Her ears perked themselves forward once and she smiled with the relief.

Still, the fact that the dove had been here for weeks and had been injured was no smiling matter, and her smile faded to a focused examination. She needed more information; that was her first task. “Wounds? What happened? Has she been here all Birdsong? Why didn’t she come back to the Throat? Is she alright now? Can you take me to her?” Her mouth seemed to be intent on making up the time her brain had lost and she fired off the round of questions in a rapid stream. Her tone had brightened, carrying nothing accusatory in her questions, the mare was simply excited to find good news and was eager for more that she could take home and ease the worries there.

a soldier does not have time to wait
a soldier cannot hesitate