He can still smell the smoke. It's like it's permanently ingrained in his head, embedded in his nostrils, refusing to let any other scent through. Warbird suspects it's all in his head; horses don't just lose their sense of smell, but the lingering stink of ash and burning bodies is bothersome. It serves as a constant reminder of the destruction he left behind. 

A burning kingdom, wasting away amidst the roiling of black magic. A war lost, light buried beneath the snakelike coils of the night. 

Warbird sighs, watching the scenery go by below him. His wings are tired and his muscles ache -- this is the farthest he's ever flown without stopping. Warstorm won't have the same endurance. It's unlikely she's made it much farther. It's time for him to set down and see if he can find his daughter. 

One of them. Pain strikes through the heart at the memory, and Warbird flinches visibly. He tries not to think about it much, as there is little to be done but move forward and do his best to defend the filly he has left so that Warsong's death won't be in vain. But he misses her so. Her absence represents another of his many failures as a king. 

Spotting a clearing, Warbird tilts his wings and spirals downward. He lands at a fast canter, nostrils open and blowing from the effort as he tucks his rear and lopes to a halt. Panting, brown eyes cast about, either for danger or company. The stallion has no idea what he will find here.