There had been a push from the Earth God, himself, to grow and re-establish the Hidden Falls once again. And there was some part of the warrioress that had wished to cleave those curled, useless horns from his head with her own, bladed seaborne horn. He had ignored her pleas on their gods forsaken black rock only to return to call for assistance his his own herd? The ridges along her neck undulated with the ferocity of her anger.

But there was another part of her—the part that had won out when she had left the Earth God’s presence—that couldn’t entirely disregard the idea of carrying out the God’s wishes in hopes that he would bring her people from the Rift. Or return her to her people. So, on webbed and cloven feet (toughened by her time out of the water) she began to journey East from her new home (scaled ears twitched at the thought of a ’new’ home).

Her extended time on land, rather than in the sea, had brought about changes in the mare that even she could not discount. Her body was heavier, more solid; the muscles of her neck grew more pronounced as it had to hold up her head against gravity. And traveling long distances had become easy, as told by her long legs’ swift trot into the Threshold’s trees.

Ridged nostrils flare—she had become accustomed to scenting the air rather than seas—and she smells blood. Perhaps Aquila is more sensitized to smelling the metallic tang from her hunting habits beneath the waves. Regardless, her dark, webbed hooves agilely pick her way through the underbrush, towards the smell; and perked ears begin to catch sounds, voices.

Her plated legs abruptly halt the moment she breaks upon the gathering, too-large and unblinking eyes landing first on the blue-tinted wings of a woman she recognized from the Falls. She studied them warily for a few moments, before her sharp stare followed the the twisted length of the pale woman’s horn, before finally landing on the one whose blood had drawn her here.

And, for the first time in Aquila’s life, she didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t that the warrioress was a verbose woman (in fact, the opposite was true). It was because, in all of her life, she had been only a soldier. Not a recruiter or a woman of small-talk. Her words were about business and order and information.

So, uncharacteristically, she shifted uneasily on her striped legs as she studied the thorn’s tears in the woman’s soft, heather coat. She eyed the many tines of her branching antlers, her practical mind wondering if many, duller tines would be more effective than her single, sharply bladed horn in battle.

And then, with a slight flare of her nostrils and a deep breath, her throaty voice began to speak, “I am Aquila, of the Hidden Falls, like this one,” her aquamarine horn glinted as she gestured towards the pegasus mare, “We have Medics that can heal your wounds. They have seen to many of mine. You are welcome to join our rank.” She paused for a moment, unblinking eyes watching for the grey, striped woman’s reaction before continuing, “The Falls’ ranks dwindle and the Earth God has asked us to reach out to newcomers. There are many opportunities in the herd.” Though Aquila, herself, had little ambition for climbing ranks (unlike many of her Akvian brethren), she had seen it appeal to others.

And then she fell silent, barbed tail swaying uneasily around her haunches for a moment (What did she do, now?), before once again speaking, “I will lead you, if you join us.” And, ever a woman of action, the mare turned on her webbed feet and began to move back in the direction of the Hidden Falls.