_{Some say you're trouble, boy Just because you like to destroy All the things that bring the idiots joy} Well, what's wrong with a little destruction?

He stands there, gazing into an emerald-green jewel of a land shrouded in mists, and wonders to himself if his mother ever intended for this place to be his home. He stands there, remembering that time she came here, heavier in her eyes than usual, telling him of the bones that resided in this place—the bones of another sister, this one too weak for even birth, the most basic of things. He doubts those bones remain here now, as the terrain has been pummeled and broken and reshaped anew since he last laid eyes upon it. It does not matter to him, much. He was never attached to these prosperous lands.

He watches—aloof. Away from his sister and the Father that guides her, he stands within the shadows of a fringe much too far away to hear her inquiries to his whereabouts. He feels the sand clotted within the crevices of his mane, his joints; the harshness of the sun might be missing, but still the desert calls him, and he cannot linger for long. The noose of a herd’s wants and needs tightens about his neck. It inches smaller and smaller, clenching his jugular, and dimly he has begun to wonder how long his patience will withstand this smothering of his freedom. The thought is cast easily aside for the time being.

High above, Ka’Mate soars, eager and bored; down below, Ka’Ora perches heavily on the wither of her master, for the claw scars there are familiar, and her talons are well suited to such callouses.  He can feel what she feels as her dark, liquid eyes watch the dappled back of the younger sister from far away; the harpy beats her wings, anxious as she watches the demon dog charge for Macaria.

Danger? comes the inquiry at her master’s inaction. Danger, danger?

Watch, he advises. Sure enough, any hint of danger disintegrates almost as soon as it is kindled. Loretta (irksome, wonderful, intrusive bitch as she is) leaps into action, just as his own Father steps in the way of any harm that might befall his sister. He was not worried of such a possibility—merely annoyed with it all, at the stupid harlot who intercepts and welcomes his sister to the herdlands.

Who? asks the harpy, the image of the great red bitch stamped in her eyes.

Loretta, answers the master.

Sire-dog?

Yes. Sire-dog.

’Retta, Ka’Ora tries; she is intelligent. Sire-dog. With a few heavy flaps, she launches herself into the sky, soaring about on a wind too fair for her master’s liking. Goodbye to ‘Cari?

It is such a feeble, hopeful little request, and Ka’Ora never asks for much. Reginald sighs. He sees his sister, how gorgeous she has become and is becoming; he sees how strongly she walks now, how proud her stride and slight her limp is, how she no longer needs the shoulder of her elder brothers as a crutch; he sees the starlight spilling from her body, truly magnificent, and if it weren’t for the eyes of their Father he would swear to himself that Mother walks the earth again.

He and Ka’Ora share the same heavy heart; the difference between them is pride. Do not linger long, he says, turning into the trees, heading south. There are things to be done; he has duties as a warrior. He cannot linger.

Ka’Ora soars for the yearling, circling overhead as she gazes with those mournful dark eyes down at the gathered party. She calls down to the sweet thing, the little sister she has grown to love with a heart that only resides halfway in her own body. She longs to land there, and nuzzle the legs of the fresh young girl before she makes her final farewell—she resists, however. Ka’Ora circles once, twice, three times, all the while calling down with her keening little song before she wheels southward, back to the wastes.

Oh! How she longs stay with her little ‘Cari—but master said not to linger long.


(Harpy Eagle call for those curious <3)
"talk talk talk"