The rambunctious little flicka was restless. The yearling's body was filling out, her withers had shot skywards in last few months, her wings gaining more weight as mature feathers peeked through, her frame going through phases of appearing lean and wiry and then stout and tubby. Growth spurts caused her joints to ache sometimes, but she was aching for other reasons as well.

The filly was a warrior, a mercenary, at heart. Her father's drive for physical finesse and excellence had passed onto her. He often said that she reminded him of Naryl, the FireSlayer, the leader of the Isilmian herd the Cliffs for so long. It was upon her death that the herd began to fail, upon her death that the Pegasus lost their grips upon the lands that were made for them by Sepagus. Cirrus loved to hear these stories her father told, she yearned to be told that she was like her grandmother, and her father, with the beauty and poise of her mother.

Her body ached because she was forcing herself to do training, to be fit, fitter than some of the soldiers that were leaving to fight in a war not their own. Cirrus was too young to comprehend the concept of why one fought in wars, but the thought of testing one's ability's next to her own body excited her. As most young soldier-to-be, she was eager to test herself. In her father's absence, she scouted the border, pale eyes crawling for his dark form to return to her, victorious of course.

A shrill call echoed out as the sun set, and the filly's sharp head snapped around, her body coming to a jarring halt, a foreleg raised and suspended as her small ears rotated frantically atop her head to analyse the call. Wings had half-unfurled already, and now they extended to their full length, already longer than most adult wings, swiftly gaining size on both her mother's and father's. The sunset paraded across her pelt, seas of oranges, pinks and swirly blues cruising upon her downy fur, dark tips being the only mark that she was a blue roan this evening.

With reckless desperation the youth called a return call to her mother, realisation hitting that Cassiopeia would soon be bringing new life to the herd - but she always just assumed Azzuen would be there too, of course he would make it back in time - wouldn't he? She flew hard and fast, her training paying off as swiftly she navigated the air currents to bring her to the fallen roan's side, nostrils puffing slightly as concern wrinkled her brow. The belle pressed her velveteen muzzle against her mother's cheek in greeting, a whicker that sounded more confident and comforting than she felt erupting from her maw the same instant.

"Oh mother, I'm here. Dad will be safe, don't worry!" A voice that was approaching maturity murmured, not used to having to console the mare that had so often consoled her when she tripped and skinned her knees, or complained that she wasn't fast enough, strong enough - anything, and everything, Cassiopeia always had an answer for her, a wise word to soothe her doubts. But now, the tables had turned - Cirrus would become the mother, and help bring her sister into this world.

"Come on, Mum, you can do it." She encouraged, a bright smile upon her lips, excitement leaking through to her voice despite the worry she felt.

they want rain without thunder and lightning



At first there was only warmth, darkness; a foal suspended in a bubble of security and invulnerability, immune to the happenings of the world around her. And then, there was light; pure, blinding light, everywhere, encompassing her, cascading her in a dank shower of cold and a slight wetness. Electric blue eyes absorbed everything, silently frantic, her legs jumbled beneath her as she shied away from this new-found freedom - it was somewhat frightening.

Her feeble, lanky mass of legs and wing lay recoiled on the sandy loam behind a dark figure much larger than her own. The mare before her, she smelled of heartsease and simplicity. She sought to be near her, and her knobby knees conveyed her closer to the warmth that seemed to radiate from the mare's dark form. The filly's roaned ebony fur was dank and darkened with birth fluid, her long, spindly lashes batting laudably as her young eyes adjusted to the opulence of the world around her. She felt cold, exposed; then there came a voice, gentle and goading.

It was as if she had heard it before, somewhere. It had existed as a faint murmur, a far off thrum of solace and comfort. But it was different now. It was louder, clearer, sharper. It spoke to her bones, eliciting some sort of inner riposte.

Frail limbs churned beneath her, struggling to flex as she searched blindly for the noise - that beautiful, soothing sonance. Her barrel rose and fell, and from her lips there came a soft bleat of sorts, almost like a plea. The sound was foreign, even to the babe's own ears, which flopped idly to the side of her petite face. There was some sort of sedating effect imparted by her dam's licking, and she sat almost motionless, her vigorous mind clambering to analyze her surroundings. There were so many smells, so many sounds. The grass felt rough beneath her knees, the wind was chilly, and throughout the air there lingered a practically palpable aura of love.

Another figure entered her vision, and she shied away from it as it approached, leaning into Cassiopeia's warmth. Gently, her mother nudged her forward, breathing words of encouragement in calm, amative trills. Azulee, she called her. Little did she know, this would be the name that would define her, sculpt her. To her, of course, at that moment, it sounded little more than an agglomerate of sound.

Witnessing the birth of her sister was an experience Cirrus would never forget. She was fascinated, engrossed by it all. Though she didn't watch the most gruesome and bloody bits, she got a firm understanding on the mechanics of 'the birds and the bees'. And she was.. Well, fascinated and slightly put off childbearing, which was, from her father's point of view, a good thing. She stood by her mother's tiara during the process, tongue flashing between her darkened lips to lick at the sweat forming between her mother's ears. She whickered her support every now and then, reminding her mother to hold on, to continue bringing forth this new, exciting life.

Cirrus was quaking with nerves and excitement by the time it all was over. As her mother leaned to view the bundle of new life, Cirrus pranced over there, keeping her wings close to her colourful sides as she did so. She helped her mother to clean her sister, heard the murmur of a name she gave.

"Azulee," she happily sung in her cherubic voice, smiling and rubbing her maw against the filly as she found her feet. She was excited, and thrilled, to have another to share this life with, to create a future with. "Oh Mum, she's beautiful." The young belle spoke adoringly of her youngest sister, affection the paramount feelings present. Thoughts of her father's whereabouts may have tried to dampen the situation, but Cirrus knew, she just knew that he would be returning home, no matter the condition he might be in, he would make it home.

they want rain without thunder and lightning



Oh mum, she's beautiful. Cassiopeia smiled in unrestrained agreement. She was certainly beautiful, in a disarmingly pure, innocent and fragile sort of way. It reminded her of Cirrus, the way she had been on the day of her birth - such a delicate, beautiful moment. "She reminds of you, Cirrus. It may be hard to believe now, but at one point, you had been just as small." She flicked her daughter an expression of affection. They were oh so alike, apart from the way her eldest had been slightly larger. She thought back to that day at the beach; to the veins of scarred flesh which now streamed down her neck and barrel like rivulets of ebony rain. Could that attack possibly be to blame for the slight difference in size?

A short lapse of time slunk by where the frail damsel struggled to collect her spindly legs beneath her. They simply would not go in the direction she wanted them to, and she devoted her full attention to thrusting her fore-body upward, suspended by her two front legs. She directed both of them in front of her, and swiftly drove herself forward. For a moment, she had succeeded in the endeavor, hoisted weakly, small tremors causing all four pillars to quiver beneath her weight.

They were not unaccustomed to the burden, having been virtually useless in the womb accept when a sudden surge of energy caused one to flex, usually triggered by the sound of her mother's voice or that of another. Whatever fleeting semblance of success the filly may have felt, was short lived, for almost as soon as she had risen, she began to gradually descend. All four legs spread out in different directions, and bit by bit she was lowered to the dusty loam.

Cassiopeia, amused by the spectacle, though also repleted with admiration, nudged her haunches encouragingly. "Come on little one. You can do it." Her thoughts swirled back to the instance when Cirrus had been confronted by a similar dilemma, surprisingly not so long ago. The true enthrallment and sentiment of the moment had never left her, just as this moment which be eternally entrenched into her memory until her dying days.
It was moments like these that made life worth living.

Determined, she tried again, and this time, she remained standing, swaying side to side as she sought to keep her balance. Her nostrils flared with each respiration, trembling as puffs of smoke billowed from them, her lungs sliding smoothly beneath her roaned hide. It was a significantly diluted balance, wobbly and unsupported, and yet she managed to maintain it. Soon enough, however, gravity would prove its effectuality once again, and she would be forced to try yet another time.

It felt like only yesterday Cirrus was learning to stand as well. One day, perhaps, Cirrus would have a foal of her own. She only hoped she would have the chance to see it for herself.