HEROES MAY DIE

It was a lazy day in the Edge. The sun was high in the sky, though today, it's rays were merciful to the ones living below it. The most gentle of breezes aided in keeping the land cool, but as of late, there seemed to be something different upon them. One could never be certain, of course, but deep down, the stallion standing near the towering cliffs of the Edge, knew that their world would cease to stay the same for much longer.

Destrier had already finished his midday patrol, and was hard at work filling his belly. Today, he was not alone, for both his son and daughter were in his presence. They had grown much from the day they were born; Luken walked with more confidence than ever, and was finally starting to get his lengthy trot down, while Laila had grown into quite the graceful, beautiful filly. Both had grown taller, which came as little surprise consider his and Tor's heights, and they were slowly beginning to fill out. It would be another couple years before they were finished out, but already, time seemed to have gone by so fast. Destrier was proud to be their sire, and looked forward to what their futures held for them.

Just as the Friesian dropped his head to a new patch of grasses, a call broke out across the land, demanding his attention. Lifting his head, Destrier flickered his ears towards the sound of it; it was undoubtedly their beloved leader, the Dragonheart, Mirage. A smile pulled at his lips at the thought of the draconic mare, for although he'd never privately met her, save for a dance in the moonlight some time ago, her loyalty and devotion for the land and it's residents was impossible to miss. It was a trait that Destrier valued above all else, and he hoped that some day, he might learn more of the Weyrleader.

"Laila, Luken," he spoke up, looking at the two yearlings and assuring he'd gathered their attention, before continuing. "Mirage calls for us." His words, while short and to the point, were gentle, simply wishing for the pair to join him in meeting their great leader. What would they think of her, should she be in her draconian form, like the previous herd meeting? Shaking the thought from his head, Destrier gave a toss of his head before moving into a lengthy, high-stepping trot towards the call.

Once they had arrived and the bodies of fellow Qian came into view, Destrier slowed to a walk, taking in the faces of those he could not recall seeing before. There were several, most likely newcomers to the land. Amongst those that had already arrived was Thor, the towering, bay draft who had greeted him during his first days here. Coming to a halt nearest a painted draft, whom was accompanied by the most curious of canines, Destrier flashed a warm smile at Thor before settling his gaze upon Mirage, listening intently as she began to speak.

There was talk of an invasion, which Destrier had heard bits and pieces of from others, but he truly knew very little about it. The other lands of Helovia were more of a mystery to him than he would care to admit, and he preferred not to meddle in affairs that were not his own. Then, she spoke of one named Aaron, who - if he had caught the young stallion's expression correctly - was the one standing beside him. A glowing smile cast his way was Destrier's way of saying congratulations; if he was able to, he would properly congratulate his fellow Qian later, outside of the meeting.

And then, the direction was upon Thor. Thor, the Gentle Heart. Thor... the Weyrleader. Yes, Thor would be an excellent leader of the Edge, indeed. The bay was always bringing home new members to help their cause, to help their family grow, and Destrier was excited to see what else he might bring to the Edge with his newly acquired position. "A position well earned, my friend," the Friesian spoke up, dipping his head respectfully towards the newly named Weyrleader, before returning his gaze to Mirage as she continued on. A mental note was made, however, to seek Thor out later on when life wasn't so hectic.

At Mirage's words, Destrier couldn't help but think instantly of his children. They both wanted to excel, Luken as a warrior, he knew, but as for Laila, he was uncertain. If they wanted to try a rank out, now was their chance to speak up. Yet, they were still young, and had plenty of time to keep such thoughts from their mind. Dropping his head closer to their heights, he gave a small tilt of his cranium towards the Weyrleaders, a silent question of sorts. Were they ready to step up in the herd and claim responsibility, or would they choose to remain the exuberant, carefree yearlings that they were?

Either way, Destrier would be proud, patient in whatever they wanted for themselves.

BUT LEGENDS ENDURE