The world was dark.

Hespera was unbothered by darkness, seeing as it lived within herself, no matter how hard she tried to shut it out, replace it with purity and love, but her soul was tarnished by war and blood and sacrifice; and in any case, some memories she would never trade, no matter how clean her spirit might have become. It was the blackness of her that drove her forward, ceaselessly, despite the horrific images that played continuously behind her eyes; sent her seeking the touch of the innocent, the blessed warmth of romance in the air, the dreams that she stamped down on continuously; too weak, too soft, not hard and strong as she should be. She was the stormchild, a goddess even if no longer quite as godly.

No, Hespera would not allow anything to stop her from her hopes.

Exhaling softly, clouds of vaporous white curl into the air, glistening like her dark eyes; she moves with an unparalleled grace, already having accustomed herself to the weight of legs on her ebon bodice and the horn that pulls at her skull. Otienu, the little white griffin, soars above her, cheerful as can be, unworried by the shadows, much like the once-immortal. Above the constricting cover of trees, he glides and float with silver wings, giving a reassuring shriek ever once and while that he is still with her. Together, outcasts from the world, they walk in silence; for words are not necessary between bonded-of-the-hearts.

How much time passes is uncertain, for they only stop when they tire, which is very rarely indeed. On occasion, Hespera will sleep while the little griffon keeps watch; sometimes Otienu, the silver prince, will rest upon her back and close his eyes, napping as she goes.

Eventually, the night is interrupted by a shriek, and then in a whirlwind of gray feathers and stripes and wide eyes the griffon comes shooting down, scattering leaves like a small child playing in autumn, wings snapping open just inches above the stormchild's back, landing hard upon her withers and digging in just a little with the claws. Her ears pin in annoyance, yet Hespera refrains from snapping, even as blood begins to drip from the small pinpricks in her obsidian skin. Yet despite her hard face, she is worried at the panic engulfing her companion, and she cannot shake him from it. It overflows their connection, drowning her in it's depth. Something is very wrong, and so the stormchild quickens her step, from walk to trot to canter to gallop, Otienu hooking his talons into her mind, riding her like a man on his destrier into war, and together they fly.

Sweat breaks upon her skin as it grows warmer, the heat of magma stronger than the frivolous cold, dripping from her haunches and shoulders as they burst into the open, Hespera's eyes immediately assessing.

Lizard.

Horse. Pegasus. Child. Pegasus. Horse. Dragon-horse. Hybrid. Unicorn.

Dragons. No longer or smaller than Otienu; yet immediately her eye seeks them out.

With a scream, a battle-cry singing- or perhaps more appropriately, roaring- of tiger and eagle, melding together into a guttural sort of sound indescribable, the sound of a griffin. Wings beat and snap as Otienu, the silver prince of griffins, flies forward swifter than a vulture to a carcass, leaving Hespera standing silent, tilting her head back to admire the red lava dripping from the beast's mouth. Her head tries to match up the monster to the dragons, of the sekemoto warriors; of the Yin family who had taught them of the world of kirin and dragon, where hyenas, wolves, antelopes, and deer lived in peaceful harmony. But whereas the sekemoto was shining-scaled and white-maned, with eyes of wisdom and teeth of white, this was nothing was dull-scaled and red-mouthed.

For a moment she remembers Weneoa, and wishes her own battle axe, lost in the past with many others thing- the Dream Sower, or Ikima, forged by the great mountain lords- was at her side, wielded with her in her shining silver armour. But the memory does not bring back the real thing, and with a sigh, she charges forward, dropping her head to point her narrow, sharp horn forth, racing towards the child of black and white. "It's not safe!" she snaps, as she rears upward, attempting to stamp on the tail alongside her, sinuous body curving back and forth, lashing out with her horn, aiming to first swipe a large cut along the upper half, then stab downwards, through the thick scales and muscle.

"Leave it be, lest you wish to reap your life so young." Hespera sighs, for a moment forgetting the screams and the roars and the fire.

Otienu chirps from flitting about the monster's head, and he dives down towards the large, gelatinous, soft eyes, hoping to pluck and claw first the left one out, then the right. (Otienu's left, not the... thing's left.)