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Name ║ Drest - Celtic meaning "riot" or "tumult".
Nickname ║ Drey
Age ║ 45
Sex ║Male
Breed ║ Suffolk Punch
Colour ║ Graying Amber Champagne w/ Blood Splash
Height ║ 17.1h
Orientation ║ Heterosexual
Details ║  Blue Tail Bee Eater pegasus. Member of the inner circle, and a close friend to Perseus. He was an original member of the group, having been a part of the trio that helped Perseus recover from the fall. He crafted Perseus' prosthetic.

Mate ║ None Yet
Children ║ None Yet
Best Friend ║ SA - Perseus: Vagabond Primary

Herd Affiliation ║ The Flock/ Freedom's Flight
Rank ║ Inner Circle
Location ║ Barrier Mountains    

Drive ║ Guilt
Patron God ║  SA | Alya | God of Sky

Personality

║ Conflicted ║ Stubborn ║ Ingenious ║ Level Headed ║ Loyal ║ Perfectionist ║ Condemnatory ║

║ Conflicted ║ Meaning - having or showing confused and mutually inconsistent feelings.

Having been brought up with strict Talorian values and beliefs, the hatred and pain that consumed him and caused him to flee from the herd still ebbs and flows in his soul to this day. The scales have definitely tipped but it is hard to hate so fervently the place that you were born and raised without feeling guilty. His family is in part responsible for the wings being hacked from the backs of the sacrifices, and he feels the deepest shame about this. The only ones who know that his father made the ceremonial scythe are Perseus and Cualli, if others knew of his shame he secretly fears that he would be torn from the flock.

║ Stubborn ║ Meaning - having or showing dogged determination not to change one's attitude or position on something, especially in spite of good arguments or reasons to do so. .

Drest clings to things like treacle tart. It is incredibly hard to get him to change his mind about things, you can argue with him till the cows come home but he won’t be moved. He takes a goodly amount of time over his thoughts and weighs all pros and cons with due diligence, so it takes particularly charismatic or talented conversationalists (like Perseus) to get him to consider other options.

║ Ingenious ║ Meaning - marked by originality, resourcefulness, and cleverness in conception or execution.

Everything that Drest touches turns to awesomeness. He can make pretty much anything out of anything (at least he would like to think so) and in a jam he is absolutely the feathered friend you would want to have in your corner. Aside from Perseus’ dashing prosthetic and its many handy weapon ready attachments, he crafts the most beautiful swords, spears and artillery, along with the treasures that are traded to help keep the flock supplied and financially stable.

║ Level Headed ║ Meaning - calm and sensible.

He is a great horse to have around in a crisis, and will calmly take charge or give orders if it is required of him, and usually makes good decisions albeit more cautious than other more reckless leaders may be.

║ Loyal ║ Meaning - giving or showing firm and constant support or allegiance to a person or institution.

He is by blood and bond loyal to the flock. He would literally take a sword for Perseus and is very protective of Cualli because of their long friendship. Don’t speak ill of Perseus around him, he may be a little over-zealous in the punishment of certain individuals based on their species rather than their conduct right now, but Drest stands by him nonetheless. It is making him a little uncomfortable watching his friend become so consumed with hate.

║ Perfectionist ║ Meaning - a person who refuses to accept any standard short of perfection.

He is incredibly hard on himself with regards to the items he makes and his role in the flock, everything must be done right the first time, and he can be very unforgiving on this count.

║ Condemnatory ║ Meaning - expressing strong disapproval; censorious.

Drest is hyper-critical of the actions of those in the flock, they all have to be contributing and to the best of their ability at all times. He is far quicker to hand out a criticism than a compliment and will push people to their limits, but that is what it takes to prepare an army right?

║ Likes ║ Justice, Calm, A Job Well Done, Flying, The Outdoors, Genuine Laughter, The Bonds of Friendship.

║ Dislikes ║ Injustice, Sloppiness, Lack of Passion, Betrayal, Abandonment, Ass Kissing .

║ Fears ║ The flock finding out his secret, one day seeing his mother again.

║ Secrets ║ His family crafted the sacrificial scythe that ended the lives of so many pegasi.

║Temperament ║ Phlegmatic - calm, thoughtful, patient, peaceful.

History  (Seriously if you read this, cookie for you)

I also wrote a little something that ties together all of the histories of the Freedom's Flight Inner Circle if you would like to read it:

docs.google.com/document/d/1Jv…

║ Childhood – Early Teens ║

My father Euoghan was an exceptional blacksmith. Horses of all kinds would come from miles around to commission his works and he turned away tens upon hundreds of hopefuls begging to learn the skill of his craft. He had always intended me to learn it though, to train at his hoof, he wanted me and my wings to earn the respect that was not automatically granted to pegasi born in Aquore. As such he taught me with great passion and patience and raised me with a love and reverence for the Sea Goddess Cascade and the laws of the Talori. He went about my lessons in small ways that I, being a petulant and wilful teenager at the time, found meaningless and frustrating at first, but his vast knowledge and wisdom always won me over in the end. Every smith skill I gained was like a new story with a cliff hanger or twist at the end that made me hungry for more. He taught me about pride in my accomplishments and to see things all the way through before he let me anywhere near the forge. He was an expert fisherman, and I was an eager, wriggling fish on the end of his gilded line.

My father valued reliability over grandeur, and while his items were beyond exceptional in the practical sense, they lacked imagination and refinement and were aesthetically devoid of embellishment. I on the other hand loved to imbue my creations with lavish designs and accents, he didn’t altogether approve as these additions hindered their practicality, but eventually over time as I experimented and became more and more obsessed with making things, my weapons stood up evenly to his in combat, and his respect for my skill and the quality of my work grew. They could be beautiful and exceptionally reliable, the two didn’t have to be mutually exclusive.

Whenever the names were drawn for the solstice celebrations I could always feel the tension in my father. I knew he was devout and loved the goddess Cascade hoof over heart as he was born and raised to, and there were plenty of other pegasi in the Talori, so the odds of me being chosen were unlikely, and even if I was, it would be an honour to be selected join the goddess. All the same in the weeks leading up to the sacrifice his expert reflexes would dull and his sleep patterns would be disturbed, as the day got closer his appetite would wane, and I some nights while I slept he would wake and stand over me for a few minutes looking me over. I remember waking one year as his great shadow fell over me to look up to his face, eyes glinting with the goddess’ bounty. He told me how much I looked like her, my mother, how he missed her and that I was all that he had left of her. I remember a glittering tear sliding to hide in the scruffy and singed fur of his cheek, him hushing me and lowering his warm muzzle to my head as I fell back to sleep.

My father raised me. My mother left us when I became a two year old. I remember echoes and snippets of her outside of a few prominent events. The sounds her wing would make as it folded around my small form, the warmth in her jewel glittering eyes that I had not inherited. She had always loved that I had gotten my father’s deep brown eyes, and used to tell me of how they swept her away when they had met while he was travelling to trade his wares in the outlying villages of Aquore, trying to gather the funds to build and establish his own forge and workshop back in the heart of the city. There was a great deal of love in my home, and while it was a long time ago and didn’t last longer than a few turns of the seasons, it still creates a great warmth in me to think of the evenings laying before the forge fire. My mother would gently fan the flames with her wings in a bellows-like rhythm as my father complimented the soft sounds of her winds with his clangs and tinkering on whichever project he was busy with. I remember feeling the love in his deep brown eyes as he would turn to look at us and smile contentedly, and in that moment I understood why my mother adored them so. Our wings were useful and beautiful within the walls of our little home, and the love between the three of us was as powerful and warm as the forge that resided at its centre.

Outside of our little house was another story though, and only years after my mother left I started to really grasp why she had. It was like grabbing at mist with your hands, or trying to catch glimpses of the shadows cast by fish as they jump from the waters of the goddess, but it was there. Pegasi were less. Pegasi were tolerated. Seen as an inferior species that had begrudgingly been granted great favour to even be allowed to tread the lands of Inaria. Barely concealed pity and a dire lack of acceptance were par for the course as far as first impressions went. I had never set foot outside of Aquore though, so this burden was almost unnoticeable to me for a good portion of my life having matured with it, and as I grew so did my feeling of being tainted and unworthy, I wasn’t angry about it, but looking back I can see it slowly festering and eating up the light inside me. My mother on the other hand had lived her earlier life free in the lands of Adoh as an emissary with remarkable jewel crafting talents, and had always been highly respected and treated well. Moving to the city with my father after returning to the outlying Aquore town at the end of her years of service must have been difficult for her. I tried hard not to blame her for leaving us, but surely my father and I were worth the hardship of mistreatment at the hands of people that were only following the culture they were born into. That I was born into.

My mother left the night after the second sacrifice that she witnessed. Being an ex-emissary and never actually living near central Aquore she had never witnessed a sacrifice take place. I remember the first one as it was mine too, and quite vividly despite my being so young. We were relatively far away in the crowd having watched the procession go by, my mother had a wing draped around me and I was so small I couldn’t quite see what was going on by the time they arrived atop the sacrificial precipice. I heard the booming voices of the Devine uttering prayers unto the goddess as they called for the scythe to cut the wings of the chosen Pegasus, and by this time the hulking form of my father had bustled us through to a place on a neighbouring cliff where I could actually see the action of the figures a short distance away as the ceremony was performed. My mother’s wing stiffened protectively around me as she stopped and I looked up to see the sheer shock and fear barely concealed on her slender features. I was confused, weren’t we supposed to be happy that the sacrifice was chosen? They were lucky to be joining the goddess. I looked to my father, face proud and smiling watching the scythe that he had lovingly crafted for the emperor being brought to the forefront of the procession. Before I had time to process the strangeness of my mother’s reaction in comparison with my father’s, the swing of the blade glinted in the torch lights catching my eye and attention, I had seen it reflect so many times in the firelight in the house as it leaned against the work bench nearing completion, and my head swivelled instantly back to watch as the Pegasus that had been chosen screamed high and terrified plunging to the depths below Pegasi’s Leap. It was a scary fall I am sure, but worth it to join with the goddess Cascade.

My father handed me a beautiful shell that he and my mother had encrusted with pearls together and he nudged my small body forward to the edge of the cliff side that we were standing on a small ways away from Pegasi’s Leap. I looked back to see a swell of pride in him and threw my small head, my wings spreading slightly to support the harsh movement as I tossed the beautiful treasure down to the waters to accompany the fallen Pegasus. My heart was beating so fast and hard as I stared at the foaming and frothing jaws below the cliff where moments earlier the Pegasus had disappeared, though whether it was beating from pride and exhilaration or crippling fear, I did not know.

The next year there around the solstice was tension in our normally loving and warm home. Though they endeavoured never to argue in front of me, on more than one occasion as the solstice neared I heard my mother and father discussing in heated tones the upcoming sacrifice.

‘You knew the customs when you agreed to come live here Gen, I thought you understood.’

‘How do you come to understand murder Euogahn, it’s-it’s just not as I had expected.’

‘I am not sure what you expected then Gen, it is the way of the people, our people, it is the way of our family. You speak treason.’

‘And what if the name that is drawn is that of our family Euo. Will you so willingly march your wife and son off a cliff? Will you craft a scythe small and deadly enough to rip the wings from your son’s shoulders?!’

‘SILENCE! I will not tolerate such blasphemy under this roof Genovefa!’

My mother hung her head in disappointment and my father turned back to his work with barely concealed rage. Nothing more was said, but like the weapon she had so callously described, the conversation had ripped a hole in the love between my parents, and a religious conflict dark and tremulous began to take its first form within me as I stepped back barely concealed from them in the opposite doorway.

The day of the solstice came and the Pegasus was chosen. It was not my mother or myself, much to her relief, but this did not dull the tension and fear she felt. Her furtive glances and the lack of her beautiful voice sailing through the house as she completed the morning chores made the atmosphere heavy and treacherous. My father’s mood was rough and reserved, there were no animated conversations or exchanges. It was as if they were in mourning, lamenting the loss of the pure love they had once held between them.

We watched the procession again, and this time it felt different. I felt the pride in my land and my people as they passed, but for the first time I looked at the sacrifice, a middle aged mare I had perhaps seen my mother converse with once or twice, and I saw the slight hint of anxiety as she smiled and acknowledged all of us. I felt a flitter of that fear and the dark crack of a rift crumbled wider in my soul.

My father had been given the great privilege of our family being allowed to witness the sacrifice up close this year as his work on the emperor’s guardian’s new weaponry had granted him great favour. My mother trailed behind us as my father took great proud steps to the edge of the procession. I stepped with him and peered closer as the scythe was once again handed over. The clear ring of the metal sailing through the air sounded out as the handle was brought down, a beautiful noise I was coming to understand under my training that had just begun. It was like a familiar warmth, a song I knew well that always rang in our home, and I smiled contented for a second before my entire body stiffened with fear and distress. That beautiful ring of clean and clear alloy was suddenly met by flesh.

The dull moist sound of tendons and meat being rendered from bone accompanied by the flap and rustle of unsettled feathers. It was horrifying. I clamped my wings tightly to my body and tried to control my breathing and facial features. I looked back frantically to see the water in my mother’s eyes before she blinked it away, turned and made her way back through the crowd. I looked back to the cliff just in time to see the last of the tail feathers disappear over the edge, a trail of still wet and shining blood marking the frenzied path of the mare as she had fled.

That evening my parents did not utter a word to each other or to me, and we went to our quarters in silence, full from the day’s feast, and empty from the day’s events. It felt as though I had been asleep mere minutes when a soft breath woke me and the rustle of a cowl slid against my neck.

‘Drest…’ her small voice came. ‘Wake up, we need to go, now.’

I was groggy and confused but I knew better than to question my mother’s tone. I trotted along sleepily beside her through the dark and deserted streets of Aquore, all the way to a deserted cliff’s edge along the water side.

‘Where is father?...’ I said groggily as my head started to clear.

‘Don’t worry, he will be fine my love.’ She assured me, but her voice was shaking and breaking with tears. ‘We need to go, now.’

‘Go where?’ I asked, tilting my small head, using my wing edge to rub my temple as the black feathers had just started to come in around my eyes.

‘Away from here.’ She croaked, and took a step to the cliffs edge.

I felt fear and suddenly I was completely awake, she was too close, she wouldn’t fling herself from the edge, surely? Even if she did her wings were whole, she could just soar away. The memory of the sound that the scythe had made as it connected with the mare’s wing suddenly overwhelmed me and my eyes filled with tears, my heart pounding in my little chest.

My mother turned and plucked a feather from her own left wing, wincing as it was wrenched from her skin, and she dropped it over the Cliffside, where the gentle winds carried it to the waters below, then she stepped back and returned to me, looking confused but relieved.

‘Oh, Alya preserve us.’ She whispered, and I took two steps back in shock and awe. That was not our patron god, my god. My mother…my mother was praying to Alya. I didn’t understand, I couldn’t process this… what was happening…

…where was father?

‘Come!’ She nudged me as she unfolded her wings and took two leaping strides to the cliff edge, lifting off and soaring into the open space. I cantered after her and stopped short of the edge, almost falling, my tall legs scrambling to keep me up and my wings beating back air to steady me on the ground as I stared down in horror and then up to see her turn, and her strong wings beat down as she hovered and waited.

‘No…’ I said in a small voice. I looked up at her, crying in earnest. ‘Please…. don’t leave us…’ then I shouted with all the fear and pain that a youngster just leaving foal hood could muster ‘MOM PLEASE NO!’

Hoof beats echoed from behind me as she tried to lower herself back to the ledge, a large guardian appeared brandishing one of my father’s swords and cantered over to where I stood.

‘GET AWAY FROM THERE!’ he yelled as he advanced, and my mother threw her head up and tore her wings down in one massive gust to lift herself and flee.

I screamed for her to return, I advanced to the cliff, my young wings outstretched with full intentions of going after her despite not having flown before, but the guardian held me back. Through my tears and thrashing in the grip of the larger and stronger stallion I didn’t even see if she looked back.

She would never be able to return.

║ Adult Life Thus Far ║

I always watched them… their eyes widening at the beauty of my crafts, the compliments passed from horse to horse on their exquisite jewellery, their superior decorative weapons, the fine adornments that I slaved and exhausted myself over night after night, each a small physical piece of my soul. None of them knew that their precious treasures were all tainted by my feathers. I was nothing more than an incredibly fortunate urchin to them, a lowly craftsmen that should be grateful and humbled to be given the contract for the palace, but to be paid at a rate that any common horse, hippocampi or unicorn artificer of my talents would scoff at. Most of them weren’t even told that the wares were mine, as the palace insisted I use a servant as a runner.

At first it had been an honour when I had taken over for my father, to be asked to make weapons and items of great decorative beauty for the divine ones and those that resided at the palace. My father was so proud to pass on his legacy, he truly felt that I had finally earned my place among the Talori and would be respected and admired despite the bright, rustling feathers that resided on my back.

It was easy to be grateful at first, to ignore the down their roman noses glances, the scoffs and pitiful body language, I had endured it most of my life after all, but since the night of my mother’s flight, every little look, every passing comment, each small rudeness or impolite gesture chipped away at my core. I could feel the crack that had become a fissure in my heart like a pit of hate, and deep dark waters stirred at the base of its cliffs.

I prayed to the goddess Cascade to help me stop feeling this hatred and contempt for my fellow Talorians, but no respite came. I yearned to speak of my anguish with my father but any mention of my mother or talk of nothing but reverence for the sacrifice ritual sent him into a terrible rage. He missed her so much, and I knew that he feared that one day I would be chosen deep down, and that he would lose the only thing that she left behind for him to hold on to. Long ago my only endeavour would have been to make my father proud and uphold his values and beliefs, but with each passing solstice it became harder to watch them die, harder to control the reaction, the fear and the anger. Harder to watch that beautiful blade wrought by my father’s own skill tear the wings from my brethren. I felt ashamed.

~

Late in the autumn of my 37th year my father passed peacefully, his heart still full of pain and regret over the loss of my mother, but his soul full and warmth from my success and love for him. I completely took over the household and business and shortly after as I began to lift from the shadow of mourning his death, the day came when that scythe was brought to my workshop for alterations and maintenance. It had been my father’s creation after all and I held the weapons contract for the palace.

For days after it arrived I couldn’t touch it. I stared down at it on my workbench for what felt like hours at a time. As I saw my brown eyes reflected in its clean glimmering steel I heard each of the screams of the lives that it had rendered null. I imagined the colours of the blood that stained it each time it took the flight away from a Pegasus. My heart turned over inside me, what was I thinking? It was an honour to be chosen, to be offered to the goddess, to join her in the depths. I looked away from the blade to see the forge fire slowly dying, I must have been contemplating for longer than I thought.

I lay down and adjusted my wings to fan the embers and as I stared at the growing orange light I saw my mother’s face in my mind’s eye when she would lay here and do this. I saw her eyes as she plucked a feather from her wing to throw it from the cliff, and the blind panic as she wheeled around and flew away from me, forever. Would I have seen them again if that guardian had not come? Would I have left with her and abandoned my father?

If there were no sacrifices, she would still be here. I would not be alone.

I stood up immediately ignoring the state of the fire, took one last disgusted look at the blade on my work table and made up my mind. No more. I gathered as many valuable items, food and provisions as I could into my travelling tack and that day, I set out to leave Aquore.

Under the cover of the moonlit night I travelled to the cliff face where I had last seen my mother, and plucked a feather from my own left wing. I hesitantly moved to the cliff edge and tentatively let it go, I watched as Alya’s winds carried it down to the depths below, and I contemplated leaving the only place I had known and loved my entire life.

A sudden splash and a burst of gold below broke my concentration and a long and glittering hippocampus seized my feather and disappeared below the depths. I felt anger and outrage immediately cantering around to the path down to the water’s edge to confront the person who had ruined my last gesture to my past.

As my anger subsided and I made my way down the steep path to the water’s edge I realised how ridiculous it was, what was I going to do? Demand my now wet feather back so that I could march back up and drop it again? What if the hippocampus turned me in for a vaguely treasonous act?

As I reached the lapping shore the hippocampus came to meet me, her gleaming golden coat shimmering and her striping over her knees and hocks darkened by the water residue which dripped from her many fins. She held my feather in her teeth and set it down on the wet ground before me.

There was something so graceful about her that any and all offense at her intercepting his little sacrifice on mine was instantly evaporated. I didn’t often see hippocampi in the water with my land and sky bound form and means of work, not to mention that I had been raised to view them as sacred, so the experience was quite reverent and brought me to silence and stillness, I lowered my head respectfully.

‘Why did you drop this from the cliff?’ She asked in a curious and musical voice.

‘In….in..’ I wasn’t quite sure. My mother had done it, but why had she done it? I paused and thought for a few seconds, then came understanding. ‘…In remembrance.’  I finished solemnly, looking away, the echoes of a million witnessed screams as they fell from the cliff to the water permeating my mind.

‘Of?..’ she asked again, not firmly but almost sadly.

‘The wings we have lost.’ I answered, and then I once again lifted my head and met her gaze challengingly, daring her to call the guardians and sound the alarm, condemning me for my treasonous acts and words.

‘I was hoping you would say that.’ She said, and picked up the feather again, placing it gently on the lapping waters to be taken down into the depths along with my mother’s all that time ago.

She stood beside me then, and as I observed her I noted her breathing, perhaps she had been as fearful of me as I had been of her in that moment of honesty. The two of us then stood side by side and stared out silently into the slowly dawning twilight of morning over the pit of swirling death that had claimed the lives of so many, the pools of Cascade that had been so beautiful to me all of my young life, our mourning binding us together, Pegasus and Hippocampus on the shore.

~

The following few years were incredibly hard. Living in the wilds surrounding Aquore is something very few can accomplish alone, but thankfully we weren’t. The golden hippocampus Cualli told me how to leave and enter city with as little detection as possible and guided me to a small outlying camp of sorts, where two mares and a young filly, which I soon learned to be a healer, an apothecary and her daughter, eagerly awaited her return. All of the members of the little group were pegasi apart from Cualli, and I could see by their furtive glances and movements that they had all bore the looks of pity and feeling of being unwelcome that living among the Talori instils in our kind. In that moment I felt the dark beast slumbering in the trench in my soul stir again, and that is probably the first time I really felt the pain and the hate take over from the conflict and confusion. I felt a sense of burning purpose, a fire of resentment and injustice that swelled and warmed like the forge in my old home, and I would melt all those that would seek to stand in our way, the fire fanned by the feathers of our wings.

We grew close, each of our skills enabling the others to survive. I crafted tools and weapons from the items that I had hurriedly packed and what we could find in the wilds, and we used the remaining treasures to trade with the outlying towns along with the potent and expertly mixed potions and healing talents of the mares. Cualli had a drive for us, she took the little flames of rebellion in each of us and gently fanned them, but not with anger and outrage at the acts of the Talori, but through the pain she suffered. Each year she would return to the pool below Pegasi’s Leap, watching the horses young and old flung to the depths, and each time she would return to us a little more broken, covered in the blood of the ones she had attempted to save. None survived…

…until him.

Her shrill and violent whinny alerted me from my hiding place, the sheer panic in her voice put all of the hairs on my back on end.

‘DREST!’ She yelled again and I heard her stumble. I leapt out from behind the rocky outcropping where I always waited for her to return from these horrific nights, to offer my body for her to lean on as we made our way back to camp. We never spoke, she was always too consumed with grief and loss. Ashamed that she couldn’t save them. This time it was different though.

A thousand scenarios flashed through my mind, was she hurt? Had she been followed? Had they found her out and chased her back? The last thing on my mind greeted my sight as I cantered around the corner, one of my finest swords held steady in my teeth, ready to fight till my dying breath.

A white Pegasus drenched in diluted blood was splayed over her back, dripping red and thick as Cualli strained to remain upright, her golden coat dimming as the blood mixed into her wet fur, one useless wing dragging in the sand leaving an eerie trail of red.

‘Oh Gods Cualli!’ I gasped as I approached.

‘He’s still alive Drest, HE’S STILL ALIVE!’ Beneath the panic and exhaustion in her tone was the unmistakable elation. Finally one had not perished to the depths.

I shouldered him from her back, she was exhausted from swimming and dragging his limp body from the city, I cursed under my breath for not insisting on meeting her closer, but never in a million years did I think someone would actually survive the fall.

‘He won’t be for long if we don’t move. We have to get him to the others.’ I whispered.

We moved as fast as his extensive injuries would allow, and by the time we got him to our small camp his breathing was shallow and the hypothermic tremors had set in. I lay him down in our shelter, on the bedding beside the supplies that we all kept, and the healer set to work to try and save his life. We all looked over him during the long hours that she worked, the apothecary fetching her the supplies she needed. I couldn’t help feeling slightly uncomfortable that young Izel, her daughter, also watched and fetched and carried as bloody rag after bloody rag was taken away for washing and re-use. It was me that carried out the severed limb though, I wrapped it and buried it. There was no way for her to save it.

12 hours later the bleeding had finally been staunched, had it not been for his already white colouring I am sure he would have looked gaunt and pale. The healer, exhausted and tapped out stepped back, I helped her to her own quarters for rest, all the while taking in her instructions for his further care.

Next the apothecary stepped into her place and began to treat the infection, he was delirious and in terrible amounts of pain, shock robbing any and all sense from him. It was 4 days before the fever died down enough for us to get any kind of coherent speech from him, and in that moment all of us stepped back, after the healer and apothecary did what they could for his body and his mind, it was time to let Cualli tend to his soul.

I paced outside the shelter, feeling angry, miserable and useless. Each of the band had given their talent to the fallen Pegasus, and here I was, watching like a clumsy yearling, what could I do though? If he survived, he would be a beacon to all that suffered at the hands of the Talorian tradition, he would be our leader if he chose to be, and he would need to stand tall for all to rally behind for a future war to bring the suffering to an end…

…and he would stand tall, so help me Alya.            

Notes

║ Theme Song ║ Marianas Trench – Master Piece Theatre I
║ Voice Actor ║ Tom Hanks – The Da Vinci Code
║ Familiar ║ None Yet
║ Items ║ None Yet

Drest's Design (c) dry-oasis
Drest and Image (c) arcanaequus
Starborn Alignment (c) Starborn-Alignment