They had come, first as rumors from the north of an attack, then a summons. Like a dark wave they went slipping through the night—evil smirks rearing to turn into full out beams of distaste. Midas, was called into battle. Still no sign of that winged one he called Sultana, he called her Kri. She was gone, I didn’t know where and why would I?
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An orange raptor flies through the starlit heaven, her wings absent flame-- yet the beauty of this bird is as unmistakable in the slim features of her battle talons and beak; as is the high Goddess moon. She soars with ever unbending speed toward a single purpose. Her bonded had given clear instruction before heading toward the cries of war.

His voice and image are what stirs, “Sound the alarm!” he screamed, “Call upon those that gave their word!”

Below the world is faintly aglow, a distant blot of misfortune her destiny and perhaps the Deserts saving grace. Loudly she calls, screeching to all who would hear. Sounding out as loud as she might; something shimmers, catching the moonlight. If one would look close enough they might see that this rare bird is clutching a single golden feather. His feather. His summons. To war! She cries, though it is with the voice of avian and not horse. Would they hear? Would they understand?

Unmistakably loud this lone creature searches for the ones that Midas had said find. It was to them she would give this feather.

OOC: This is for the leads of Asylum. Dragon's Throat is calling your aid.

I saw the pair of them and wondered if these were the warriors my bonded had told me to get. They had taken notice of me. Watching me with eager eyes, hungry eyes…curious no doubt. My talons locked around a nearby tree limb-- its body was covered in gangly white vine and moss. Sick without the sun. Sick without light. Sick. Aqua blue orbs gauged the company that approached, I recognized them both from Midas’s mind. Yet, I remained aloft, unwilling to trust them just yet.

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Her wings open, shimmering in the scattered hues of moonlight. Those unbending predator eyes narrow, finding their target with the same quickness that served hunters. A dark colored lady had emerged after the red haired woman, she had a curious marking across her mug—this was the one Midas had remembered from the alliance meeting. The orange phoenix took to the air again, flying slow now until she was levitating with careful beats only a few feet away from the pair. That golden feather falls, likely to the feet of said woman.

Fina stared at the unusual woman for a moment longer before rising quickly, beating strong toward the South. She turns back and cries out again, urging them to follow. Had Fina been an equine or even a little older she might have noticed the glint in their eyes. A sickness that the plants had, a poison. Alas, she was not. Merely a soldier as her bonded, this brave lass was following orders.