Midas

We flew in loose formation, myself, Kri, Gaucho, and Aryel. The four victorious warriors of the Throat, funny as it was--I didn’t feel very victorious. Our aching wings carried us swiftly across the cloudless sky without a single groan rising from the group. We caught updrafts and coasted when able, but mostly Kri pressed us into a fast pace. Up, down, and then up again. By now I couldn’t feel my wings. They seemed like lifeless things obediently filling with air and then pushing against it on command.

Where was the glory and honor you might ask? Well, the tough reality of it was there is no glory, or honor, there was only tired soldiers returning from war.

Luckily, this flock sustained only a little damage from the recent battle, not enough to hinder the drive to get home as quickly as possible; but enough to cause warmed wings strain with each rise and fall. I had every confidence that our arrival would be welcomed as usual, that this rush wasn’t necessary. We had plucked only a few warriors from the group, myself included to aid our new sister clan while the other (warriors) remained to defend out boarders should some fool of head stallion try to test his might.

After hours of travel, budding green faded away into comforting colors of tan, bleached crimson and cream. The sun had just started its descent when we arrived, its warmth leaving our sweaty backs with promises for tomorrow. Dark and light specks of guard outlined the territory and welcomed us with grins of victory. Trumpeting our success loud and proud. I half smiled down at them in passing, weary but joyful to know that my family was safe. No surprises today, thank Earth. Since it was obvious that no attack had been issued, I said my farewells and banked dead south toward a splotch of emerald. The only sign of life in this blistered desert. It looked to my eyes to be the brightest of gems, and the most beautiful of all things.

I was looking at home.

It’s bad when you can smell your own stink. My body was hot and sweaty, I reeked of blood and perspiration. Glossy gold and silver were dulled by plasma and mud, grass stuck up between the plates of steel. I possibly looked how I felt. Frame was heavy under the influence of armor; my muscles realized just how spoiled they had it by getting an old taste of weighted alloy instead of the light collar.

Strained and sore; but at least I was home.

Alive, very tired, but home.

Who cared if every nerve burned tomorrow? Using the tips of my feathers to guide my descent, I tucked them in a little and landed roughly 20 yards or so from the tropic like treeline. A loud screech was my first greeting, Fina sprang from her perch in the trees and beelined toward me at top speed. Her beak brushed against my forelock fondly before she attempted to land between my shoulders only to find while my flesh was forgiving. Metal was not. Fiery attachments remained outstretched to achieve balance when talons slipped on smooth metal. Obviously she had momentarily forgotten her anger of being left behind because instead of acting sully Fina lavished me with adoration.

Bumping the tip of my muzzle against her chest affectionately I hummed softy, “I’m glad to see you too.”

Of course that was as far as her sensitivity went, after a moment she settled and remembered where I had been. Blocking off a wave of fresh annoyance that had suddenly clicked on like a switch, I turned face toward the sky to see a familiar dot practicing above the glade. Cera was flying, strong and beautiful. His large caramel wings were full of air and tilting in an ever tightening spiral. The sight of him brought a proud smile to my face. My son had successfully graduated into the rank of fledged.

This was a cause for celebration.

After I washed blood from my blades, oh, and rested as well.

Walking toward him once those little hooves had landed I called out when close enough to be heard without shouting, “Looks like someone has been sneaking in some extra training,” I smile and wonder if he could hear the raw notes of pride threatening to burst free, “Wanna head toward the lake and talk? I could use a bath.”

your dying love is a rose I have buried somewhere close to you