The funnels of sunburnt rock reminded the stallion of the cliffs which he was born. He glided through them now, looking forward to the day when his daughter would race alongside him. She was too little for it yet, her wings too fresh and not yet strong enough to lift her from the ground. But with the exercises she enthusiastically embraced, her strength would grow quickly, and she had told him her intentions of following him around on his patrols. He loved her dearly, and her mother, and despite the loss of his brother saddening him, he dutifully tore himself away from their comforting sides and patrolled the lands he was growing to love dearly. His great wingspan almost scraped the edges of the high walls of the great channels of stone, and he was reminded constantly of his homelands, the Cliffs. With ease he performed basic training moves a warrior should keep as a regular part of his regime, sometimes flying quite low to the ground, even allowing his hooves to gallop underneath him, sometimes climbing great heights, all within the confines of the rocky walls.

He constantly surveyed his surrounds, sometimes enhancing his own sense of smell to enable him to read the winds before his sights might spy another body. The woody, forested scent of a stallion from lands to the North caused a small frown to mar his chiselled façade, and it wasn’t long before his vibrant electrically azure pools spied the spotted beast. Heading for water… just like the other one. He thought, reflecting on the last unicorn to come wandering here from the World’s Edge. A low melody was sung, his resonating baritones needed little effort to be made efficient enough to travel across the savannah. Altering his flight path, he circled the steed from above a moment, before landing, placing himself between the horned beast and the lake which was not far. Honestly, it’s at least polite to seek permission.. He was growing tired of the charades the unicorns were playing.

“Greetings.” His voice was dry, but not entirely unwelcoming – more guarded than anything else. “You are the second I have seen to travel from the Edge to our lands; I am Azzuen, Warrior here.” He didn’t feel it necessary to fluff his rank any higher than a regular warrior, much preferring to let the situation unfold before him, see if he was capable of earning respect rather than demanding it. “If I might know your name and purpose, I can lead you to our lake, where you are welcome to find respite, if you so desire.” Though Azzuen wasn’t sold on mere first impressions that this steed would be trustworthy, he had faith in his own abilities to remove a threat should the horned brute become one. Not only that, but the law of his land dictated that outsiders would be treated with the Throat’s hospitality until they threatened to break the peace – and that was something Azzuen was keenly aware of. His sharp gaze missed very little, his wings held slightly away from his flanks, not only to allow cool air flow through his feathers, but also to enable him to take flight in less than a second’s notice.