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.