The stallion before him was surely a sight to behold, if one knew not about the deformity that ails his wing, he would surely have the stature and poise to hold a warrior’s rank. He was refined, chiselled, athletic even though Azzuen doubted he had ever taken flight. The wing that would not close down upon his sides clearly prevented him from such airborne activities, but he that he had maintained fitness upon the ground was remarkable in itself. The General admitted to doing not enough ground training, should he ever be caught in a battle where his wings could not spread and lift him, he wondered just how he would fare.

Thoughts trickled through his cranium like water droplets through a creekbed, he wondered how this Andash would react to being offered a position that involved putting his body to the test. When he looked at the wing it was with nothing but acceptance, he took in all the information about the steed, from the feather amongst his tail to the crimson bloodmark that stretched across his chest. He stored the information away, as well as putting the stallion’s very scent deep into his memory, should he ever need to identify him again in the future, he knew he would be able to. He smiled; taking an immediate liking to the sincerity of the steed

They walked the distance, Azzuen occasionally pointing out landmarks and stretching his wings out wide as they reached a particularly flat bit, before the hazy outline of the lake came before them. Dipping his own crown low, he disturbed the water’s crystalline edge with his whiskered muzzle, pleased to be taking a refreshing drink, it did wonders to keep his temper even and empowered him to continue his patrol of the lands. Frequently his eyes would do a casual scan of the surrounds, their irises a cool sky blue today, though ringed with a playful indigo as often seemed to happen when he was near Cassiopeia.

“Some say the desert is unforgiving, but the lake here provides us with some respite.” He spoke warmly, his deep voice carrying the lyrics with melodic ease from his throat. “And please, you’re welcome to call me Azzuen.” He added, having only just picked up that the stallion referred to him by his rank before. Yes, he was a General, but he was also much more than that, and while the rank meant a lot to him, the name his parents had bestowed upon him fit him much better, he felt. Thick, matted tendrils slapped against his hocks at a wayward fly trying to lay its itchy eggs upon his charred legs, a hindleg hitched itself upon its toe in a display of momentary relaxation.

“I encourage you to explore and get to know your homelands, Andash. If I can be so bold, I might ask that you aid me in watching our borders, too?” He posed the question in a comradely fashion, honesty shining behind his eyes; he would not have asked the stallion to perform a task he thought him incapable of. Azzuen needed as many sets of eyes as he could get to watch over and protect his home, his family. Briefly, he stretched out a wing to lovingly caress the feathers of his mate, a soft, fleeting glance making its way to her own cerulean gaze, before he refocussed and awaited a reply from the stallion.