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."