He knows, perhaps better than most, the allure of the sky. It is a haven one can escape to, even when the ground is fraught with worry and strife. There is a unique perspective one finds of the world when viewed from so far above. A deep seated realization of just how small and insignificant one is in the grand scope of things. Even one who has lived as long and well as he has.
He spends too much time among the clouds, this he does not doubt. It is an excellent place to keep watch, to stand sentinel. Most often over his own kingdom, a sharp eye kept on the comings of goings residents and strangers alike. There is an ache in his bones when he is forced to ground, when the wind and snow grow too fierce for flight. But the sheer freedom and beauty of those escapes more than make up for it. There are few places more perfect for flight than the endlessly open expanse of the Tundra, even in spite of the chill.
But today, rather than play watch dog for his home, he makes his way to the field. It has been too long since his last visit. It is true that his home has been demanding more and more of his time even as it expands and grows, as new members join and take up rank. But that is no excuse. Even for himself - perhaps most especially for himself - he will countenance no excuses.
He has not circled the wintry expanse of the field for long before he spies a likely candidate. This in and of itself is unusual. He has gone entire days without finding potential recruits before. But then, when one is recruiting for the Tundra, this is as unsurprising as it is common.
He wastes no time in joining the pair, hooves landing softly in the powdery snow as settles his wings against his sides. He steps forward, dipping his head in a brief nod of greeting. He catches the young mare’s greeting in his approach, rather appreciating her boldness. It would, hopefully, make the frankness of his own speech less blunt.
”And I am Hurricane, from the Tundra. Since we are being so forward, I would offer an invitation as well. Though in all fairness, I should be quite honest. It is a hard land, not for the faint of heart.”
He pauses a moment, steely gaze flicking over Ygritte briefly before returning to the darker stallion.
”First though, I suppose we should know your name.”
He spends too much time among the clouds, this he does not doubt. It is an excellent place to keep watch, to stand sentinel. Most often over his own kingdom, a sharp eye kept on the comings of goings residents and strangers alike. There is an ache in his bones when he is forced to ground, when the wind and snow grow too fierce for flight. But the sheer freedom and beauty of those escapes more than make up for it. There are few places more perfect for flight than the endlessly open expanse of the Tundra, even in spite of the chill.
But today, rather than play watch dog for his home, he makes his way to the field. It has been too long since his last visit. It is true that his home has been demanding more and more of his time even as it expands and grows, as new members join and take up rank. But that is no excuse. Even for himself - perhaps most especially for himself - he will countenance no excuses.
He has not circled the wintry expanse of the field for long before he spies a likely candidate. This in and of itself is unusual. He has gone entire days without finding potential recruits before. But then, when one is recruiting for the Tundra, this is as unsurprising as it is common.
He wastes no time in joining the pair, hooves landing softly in the powdery snow as settles his wings against his sides. He steps forward, dipping his head in a brief nod of greeting. He catches the young mare’s greeting in his approach, rather appreciating her boldness. It would, hopefully, make the frankness of his own speech less blunt.
”And I am Hurricane, from the Tundra. Since we are being so forward, I would offer an invitation as well. Though in all fairness, I should be quite honest. It is a hard land, not for the faint of heart.”
He pauses a moment, steely gaze flicking over Ygritte briefly before returning to the darker stallion.
”First though, I suppose we should know your name.”
There is never a day that goes by
that is a good day to die.
Hurricane
