It seemed the General was falling ever so slightly behind the recent flood of members gathering within the clutches of his very home. Each of them he had spied from afar, his duties on patrolling the borders keeping him high in the skies most of the time, he could tell when those who were new were already being greeted and welcomed, and would store away their general body types so that he could identify them at a later date. He hadn’t ventured often outside of his homeland recently, having encountered enough hazards on his adventures out of the lands, and with the influx of herd numbers, he felt it even more important to fortify the borders, and ensure all of their safety.

Of course, he also wanted to seek out new warriors. Their ranks were fairly sparse, at least compared to what he would have liked. Ideally, he would have felt most secure with patrols being sent out with a pair of keen eyes watching the borders, not just single steeds. He would have liked to have more spare warriors, who could manage the meeting and greeting of the ground patrol. As it was, they were coping with their slightly lesser numbers, and the recent surge in herdmates did give him something good to hum about while he floated about upon thermals that were plentiful in the heat.

The presence of his mate below arriving with a new stallion did trigger a slightly more urgent than usual need to greet them, however. Angling his path with ease towards them, he sent out a happy call, greeting his beloved and the newcomer with a kind, regarded harmony. It was easy for him, in his circling path, to spy the strange shape of the stallion’s wing, and Azzuen had to wonder if it prevented him from flying – but then he mentally slapped himself for his own stupidity. A long trot was entered by his limber legs as the ground met his hard, neat hooves, his ground-born motion now bringing him closer to them.

“Greetings,” his deep and rough voice called out, a kind, welcoming smile touching his charred lips. He wuffled with affection as he reached out to caress his beloved’s own muzzle, before adjusting his posture and nodding his cranium to the new steed. “I am Azzuen, general of the Throat. Come, the Oasis’ lake still holds water.” He motioned with his shoulder that they should follow, unaware that he had answered the stallion’s previous query with regards to having a drink. It was hot, most newcomers would be pleased to find the Oasis and wet their mouths.

“Might I know who we are welcoming to the Throat today?” He spoke as he walked, imploring either his mate or the newcomer himself to grace his ears with the information that might expose Andash’s identity.