Peron has been quite careful to remain quiet on this trip, though from time to time he does point out landmarks and once his favorite tree in southern Loess (a eucaplytus with Sedum morganianum draped from its branches, interspersed with orchids in a myriad of colors). He does not want to aggravate his companion any farther with his chatter, though keeping quiet is rather a struggle. Pteron is not by nature a quiet creature, but he is observant.
The golden mare is clearly in pain for all she might try to hide it. He’d been on the verge of asking her if she was sure
she didn’t want to prop up her wing for nearly a mile, and when she finally did it was all he could do to not breathe a loud sigh of relief. Vastra is fortunate that the only large predators in Loess are the dragons, he thinks, she’d make an excellent meal for any hungry creature if she were on her own – broken and bleeding as she is.
Pteron has found he rather dislikes the smell of blood.
He does not regret helping her, but by the time they reach the Pampas the cloying and metallic smell is nearly nauseating. When she asks what to do now, he cannot help but sound eager when answers: “I’ll go find someone!”
It takes some maneuvering, but he slips out from under her wing as carefully as he can manage, and takes to the air. They have made it to the heart of the little herdland already, but Pteron has not yet seen a familiar face. Noah is surely here somewhere, and it is for the little roan mare that he keeps an eye out for.
He finds her barely a half mile from where Vastra stands, and swoops down in front of her.
But it is not the pink roan Noah after all.
he says to day
. “I thought you were someone else. I’m Pteron. I’m looking for Noah? I have someone here who needs to be healed.”