Powerful wingbeats pounded against the air, the pressure of them causing loud thwumps of sound to vibrate within one's ear drums. The sound of a Pegasus in flight was usually steady, rhythmic, meant to cover ground in a reasonable amount of time. This rhythm was hurried, rushed, desperate. He lingered long enough to hear the outcome, but just as swiftly he may as well as forgotten it, such was the pull away from the battlefield he felt. How could he have left them at such a crucial time! He was worried, he was aching and injured, bloodied, bruised and battered, and yet he pressed on, heading towards him homeland with naught a care for what laid behind him. The battlefield had invigorated him, as it always did, he had proven himself once again to be a warrior worthy of standing against powerful opponents and surviving, he had once again solidified his resolve to be General of his herd. But that meant little to him now, for his mind was not on the battlefield anymore, but on his family. It was time for him not to be General, but to be a father, a lover, a protector of things dear to him.

Cirrus flew above the patch of land her mother and sister walked along. The ground, as capable as she was at running over it, held her interest for only a handful of minutes a day ever since she had discovered the true joys of flight. The young belle had finally mastered it, and with the aid of her father, was swiftly becoming quite the aerobic acrobat. Even as she flew, distracted by the happiness she felt at her growing family, she exercised, lazily perhaps, but still pushed herself into figures and shallow dives every now and then. It was as they walked through the midst of the Meadow, that her little ears perked sharply upright, and heard the approach of another Pegasus. Her pelt was darkening with the fading light in the sky, and so her brilliant, electric blue gaze scoured the lands with her brow squinting over the optic canals. The breeze that spoke of Frostfall did nothing to aid her in identifying the approach, but the flicka could tell much just from the wingbeats. It was the flight of a warrior, and taking a chance, the flicka summoned a call that was loud, clear, sharp and strong against the impending night air; a sound that she surely did not look capable of producing.

With renewed vigour the stallion heard the call, and without hesitation he returned it, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. Cirrus' call had not mentioned danger, but held the tingle of joy within it. He was sad that he had missed it, sad that there was little he could do as far as helping Cassiopeia now, but still he pressed on. His pelt stank of blood and sweat, rivulets of both liquids marred him. His hind leg had suffered the worse, even as he declined his flight towards the soft cushion of the Meadow for landing, he knew there would be pain from the resounding shudders of impact. It was useless, for now, and would require healing, but he shut it out of his mind. He landed, upon three legs, which shook beneath him from sheer exhaustion, but he stood before his approaching family. His wings drooped, too tired to care about folding back against his sides. His spear had been in his mouth, he neatly tucked it back amongst the folds of his feathers on his right wing, where it usually rested, undisturbed.

The yearling belle was the first to surge ahead, to see the effects of war upon her father. She was horrified, at first, for her image of her father was an indestructible force, and yet here he stood, only heartbeats away from being broken completely. Her mouth was agape as her own flight descended near him, and just as swiftly as she landed did she tuck her wings tightly against her flanks and canter to his side. Without question she huddled near him, supporting his weaker side, rubbing the blood and sweat that darkened his already dark hide onto her own. Azzuen looked at his daughter lovingly, almost sadly. He whispered something to her, something about warfare, and how she should never seek to be a part of it, and the flicka nodded, but only feigned agreement. Cirrus would be a part of wars and battle, one day she would be heralded the finest warrior, one day she would earn her father's own title, one day she would be the one returning triumphant and alive from hard-fought battles. Though her father's appearance was sobering to the seriousness of war, it did not deter the maiden in the least.

The stallion nickered warmly to his mate and the small bundle that was by her side. The trails of lightning that traced her limbs and hide brought a smile to his face, there was no denying whose daughter she was. Fatigue was evident as with tired eyes and Cirrus' help he stepped forth to greet his beloved, pressing his maw, the only part of him unbloodied, against her own, and blew warm air against the new bundle of life that joined them. Cirrus had whispered a breath into his ear, and he smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that was punctuated by the glimmer of happy tears behind his currently-indigo eyes.


"Azulee, my daughter."

War; it was what took fathers away from their families, what forced the too-young to grow too-old, too fast, what defined who lived where and for how long.. War. It was a terrible curse to have in one's history, mostly for the fact that like so much in history, it repeated itself, never relinquishing its hold upon one's soul, continually feeding it with a bloodlust even the most kind stallion cannot ignore. Azzuen would be the first to say that he hated war, that he fought in it due to some kind of addiction, the repeated high he got from tearing flesh off another's hide, or disabling them completely with his magic, it allowed him to feel powerful, in control of a situation where only chaos was the true ruler. His spear needed cleaning, but it was not as dirty as his conscience; if he were to listen to the guilt that dared to threaten the cool thresholds of his mind, he might become lost to everyone. But he did not clean his conscience, he simply did not listen to it - he was a murderer, it was true, he had slayed in the past, and most recently, he had allowed hatred to fuel his actions and even kindled a desire to snuff the light's of another out.

Was it not right to feel so passionately determined to fight back against one who had destroyed the bodies of so many among your own ranks, even caused the most damage to his own hide? Azzuen's leg still did not touch the ground, for it would be useless to even try - he bunched his haunches up in the effort to keep it tucked up high, but they were tiring - and he knew the joint would suffer if it were left too long without the magic of a healer to release the swelling and twisted conditions of the tendons within. He remembered keenly the little goat-horse that had inflicted these injuries, and similar ones upon other comrades, and swore to himself that he would stick his spear straight into Aurelius' skull should he ever cross paths with him again.

But such thoughts came and left swiftly in the weary mind of Azzuen, with such happy occasion to come distract him, the only lingering remnant of the memories was a fleeting frown upon his brow, and a grimace as his leg twanged with sharp, furious needles of pain. His daughter, Cirrus, who pressed herself so near to him, forced him to lean further upon her so that his exhausted muscles could rest. Disgruntledly, the steed allowed it, knowing it was better to take advantage of his daughter's willingness while it was offered. With the nearing approach of his mate, he was able to further banish the pain that wracked him away, able to ignore the constant throbbing if only for a handful of seconds; love was his anaesthetic, it numbed his body from its aches more than his own magic ever could, it refreshed him and reminded him the reason why he fought. It was not bloodlust, or the stimulating, powerful senses that rushed through him whenever he partook in a battle; it was this, the love of his life, the very soul he had sworn to protect until such a time arose that they were no longer able to walk or fly over this earth together. When that time came.. He didn't know what he would do.

Magic, that of his beloved starbreather's, alighted upon his daughter's back then, another upon his mate's, and he smiled, enjoying the light they provided him with. Cirrus let out a soft, angelic giggle, as the warm caress of starlight felt soothing upon her back. The stallion breathed in the scent of his mate, and their new daughter, the fresh, sterile, new scent of a newly born life a stark contrast to the bloody, sweaty, masculine stench his own bodice must be permeating. Let him be known to his daughters as a warrior - a warrior who truly fought for his family, not simply one who spoke of such things and then never followed through with actions. Azzuen was a creature of action, not thought, his entire self was built upon always moving, always fighting, always living.

"Only in body, beloved." Deep tones answered her query, a smile crinkling the folds around his eyes as he held her cerulean gaze in return. "My heart and soul are still perfectly in tact." Once again he bumped his muzzle against her, trying to reassure her that he would survive. A sigh escaped him, he wished to linger here forever, but it was not to be - for now. Once they returned home and the lake would allow him to bathe and freshen up, he could rest, but there was unfinished business in their desert home that needed tending to. With the state of his legs, it was unlikely that he would make the walk back. Wings were still in tact, and able to fly, though they were fatigued almost beyond use. He would linger here a while longer, with his family, to give himself precious minutes to recover and complete the journey home. With Cirrus aiding him, he motioned towards the stream that still flowed, the steamy sweat upon his hide a stark contrast to the pale, snowy mounds of powder that littered his path. Winter was on its way, though with the Throat being so far south, it was doubtful that they would feel much of it besides a chilly wind. The rest of the lands would surely be doused in snow.

He listened to his thirst, and drank deeply, struggling to balance without Cirrus pressing against him, for with only three functional legs he could easily have toppled over. He would have to fly home, and very sternly tell Cirrus to stay by her mother as he did so. But not yet. For now, he could just enjoy their company. "The Qian have their home." He added, having lingered long enough to hear the outcome proclaimed seemingly by the very mists of the land. It felt good to succeed in returning the favour to an ally, to prove one's loyalties to those who had earned it. "I fear life is likely to only get more complicated for us from here." He was concerned about the ongoing repercussions the Throat's contribution to the battle would make. Surely having all the lands united against you would scream loudly enough that your ideals were not accepted here? No, Azzuen reflected with a small smile to himself, thinking of his mother, and her stubborn, racist ways, if anything, we've only given them more fuel to burn us alive with.

The steed allowed the water to soothe him, though it obviously would not be enough to cure him of all the ailments that plagued him currently. He shut his eyes a moment, thinking of the cool liquid that now resided within his stomach, feeling its cool touch particularly against the heated temperature of his exercised body. It was as if by focussing upon it, he was better able to track and recognise as the rest of him felt its effects. It was a form of meditating, of restoring the balance that had been thrown out of the metaphoric window when the warrior had chosen to use his skills on the battlefield to defend a cause that he believed in.

But, in the heat of battle, what had it been that had driven him on? Bloodlust? The sheer will to survive? No, he remembered. It was images of his loved ones, his mate, his daughter - and the thoughts of his then-unborn daughter. He sighed, allowing the thoughts of his loved ones to further soothe his tortured mind. But he couldn't relax, there were still things to be done, prisoners to take care of. Lifting his crown, his eyes looked south, and it was as if he was peering directly to the heart of his homeland. He heard Cassiopeia's query on the mortality rate of their soldiers, and a frown marred his hide. He had seen many fight, and many fall - he vaguely recalled not seeing Jaydan, the odd hybrid gelding, rise again. He hoped the soldier was all right.

"It was a hard battle. Many fell to unconsciousness, I hope that all will rise." He did feel guilty that he had not lingered long enough to check. But the worries of his close family had overpowered his duties as a general. He would fly back there to find out just after he sorted out his business at home. Cirrus brought him out of his thoughts with a gentle nudge against his thick nape. A sad smile curved his lips as he returned the touch with his velvet maw. "Stay with your mother." He murmured to the yearling filly. Though his voice was quiet, it held an authority only a father could possess, a seriousness that he knew the belle would not disobey. The little roan child nodded her head, knowing to listen to her father, at least this one time.

"Cass, I must fly home, my leg will not hold me up for the walk. There are matters that need tending to, both within our borders and back at the Edge. I must visit both again before I can rest." He reached out to his mate, and lovingly lipped at her forelock, whilst blowing warm air upon his newest daughter's poll. To Cirrus, he gave a firm nod, communicating more in that single gesture than all the words in the world could have. I love you all, protect your mother and sister. With much effort, he extracted himself from the supports of his companions, and forced himself into a trot. If not for the great wingspan that stretched from his shoulders, he probably wouldn't have found himself in the air again so soon. As it were, his wings clawed at the skies, and though he grunted with the effort, he made it upwards, higher and higher. Cirrus watched him, longingly, before subconsciously huddling alongside her mother and sister, preparing to make the journey back to their homeland.

[Azz out <3 ]