"Equinox Rising (Old)" by Amy ´Insom´ Downum

                                                 Equinox Rising            By Amy Downum                     

      * 

    A healthy breeze blew in from the Ruin Mountains, lifting Ishana’s thick tresses of silvery-blue mane. The old mare snorted and lifted her graying muzzle to the breeze, nostrils flared as she sniffed for danger. Not a single threatening scent reached her, however, and she settled down again to watch over her sleeping filly.

   The same breeze ruffled her dozing filly’s short, fuzzy red mane, and blew over her with its chilly fingers, causing her to shiver. Ishana moved nearer and curled around her peaceful child, gray-blue eyes filled with love as the filly’s chest rose and fell with her breathing.

   “Such a blessing…” murmured Ishana softly, nuzzling the filly’s cheek with her own. Ishana sighed and closed her tired eyes. Giving birth had been hard, and now she needed sleep.

   Not long after Ishana had dozed off did the thundering of enormous hooves awaken her. She snapped quickly alert, bleary eyes hurrying to focus on something large and black that was galloping towards her. The large black something became clear as it neared, and Ishana breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing her dearest Quillian, leader of the Windmaker herd.

   The giant stallion skidded to a halt in the knee-high grass, his face set in a stern grimace.

   “What in the world is going on?” asked Ishana, unaware that her mate was in no mood to be questioned.

   “Get up Ishana, quickly!” snapped Quillian, his silver tail tassel flicking with impatience.

   “Not until I know what’s going on,” said Ishana quietly. “And keep your voice down, you’ll wake her up…”

   “Who…?” asked Quillian, but he didn’t need to hear the answer; his dark ruby eyes had fixed themselves on the little filly next to his mate, and he quickly dropped to his knees.

   “Oh Ishana…she’s…she’s just beautiful…” he said softly, his voice quavering. Quillian gently nuzzled his mate, his stern face full of fatherly pride.

   And indeed she was beautiful. The little filly was pure white, a white so bright it seemed to mirror the sun on ice. Her four, gangly legs were adorned with deep, bold red socks, like the color of red wine. Little wispy feathers the color of dark red roses hung at her ankles, and fell onto tiny cloven hooves of a matching shade. Her tiny tail tassel, the same color as her legs, sprouted from beneath a triangular hawk’s tail. The tiny feathers on this second tail were the same, bold, deep red with shimmering, deep golden tips. The tiny wings that were folded tightly to her little back were white, like her body, but the primary feathers were that same dark scarlet, and tipped again with gold like the sun’s rays. Fuzzy locks of ruby red mane intertwined and wound there way through the feathers that stuck up out of the little filly’s neck, ruby red trimmed with gold as well.

   “Thank you m’love,” whispered Ishana, hiding her dished face in her mate’s thick silver mane.

   “But we must hurry,” said Quillian, suddenly stern. He heaved himself to his feet and nudged Ishana in the ribs urgently. Ishana pulled a sour face and slowly got to her feet, then turned to her mate and eyed him curiously with one bright eye.

   “Why must we hurry?” she asked.

   “Mutai spotted a band of them heading this way, fast. They should be here before nightfall…” Quillian answered quickly, looking down at his newborn foal with concern.

   “A band of what?” asked Ishana, dreading the answer.

   “Graybacks, and they’re headed strait towards us. We have to move, the rest of the herd be already down by the Ruin Jungle path. We have to leave, just for a short time.” Quillian watched his mate intently; watched the sudden fear spring into her eyes.

   “But she isn’t strong enough to flee,” hissed Ishana, her voice riddled with panic for her baby.

   “She’ll manage,” huffed Quillian, dropping to his knees again and nudging the sleeping filly awake.

   “Don’t scare her,” said Ishana, hovering over her mate’s shoulder.

   “I wont,” said Quillian, toning his deep, thunderous voice down to a soft whisper. “Hey there,” he said, his face glowing with love for this tiny winged creature he barely knew.

   The filly lifted her head slowly, her big, dark eyes fluttering open and revealing a world she had known briefly before she had fallen asleep. Her eyes took in the massive form of the stallion she would quickly learn was her father, and the stocky, gray mare in the background she already knew was her mother.

   “Well look who’s up,” whispered Quillian, grinning broadly at his daughter, who yawned widely and squeaked.

   The filly looked at the big, black, Clydesdale-like stallion that took up her entire field of vision, except for the bit of her mother that peeked around from behind him, and felt very small indeed. She let out a small, squeaky neigh and struggled to gain her feet.

   Immediately Ishana moved to her foal’s side, nosed her way past her mate, and carefully nudged the tiny foal with her muzzle to help her stand.

   With steps as shaky as though she was trying to walk in an earthquake, the filly stood, wobbling terribly. The motherly pride that shone through Ishana’s eyes was rivaled only with the love and adoration from Quillian’s.

   “Look at her,” breathed Quillian as his little filly tried and failed to take a step towards them, and landed in a heap at their feet.

   “Silly little one,” laughed Ishana, leaning against Quillian and nuzzling under his chin. The tiny foal flopped and struggled to regain her feet, and Ishana extended her neck to help her little one out.

   When at last the little white and ruby foal was standing, Quillian wasted no time in getting her to run, much to Ishana’s displeasure.

   “She’s not strong enough,” she argued. “She’s only an hour and a half old!”

   Quillian didn't pay her any heed, but urged the filly to move swiftly. Struggling to keep her balance in grass that was taller than she, and having very little experience in walking at all, the young Perecorn filly was having a hard time do as her father wished.

   But the tiny filly seemed to be made of stronger fabric than her mother had thought, for, in nearly ten minutes, she was running clumsily by her father’s side.

   “Will you look at her?” asked Quillian, beaming proudly as he trotted by, his daughter running at his side, her tiny ears barely brushing his barrel. Ishana smiled reluctantly.

   “I suppose you think this means she will be able to run hard, and for long distances, and keep up with the herd over rough terrain? May I remind you that-“ But Quillian snorted derisively and cut her off.

   “I’m sure she will manage just fine, love,” he said, stopping and walking over to his mate’s side. Quillian took a lock of Ishana’s soft, silvery blue mane and tugged on it gently. “But we need desperately to be going,” he continued, this time more urgently, the familiar note of fiercely devoted leadership now resounding on his strong voice. “The Graybacks will be here shortly, and I shudder to think of what they will do if they found us here…”his voice trailed off, and Ishana knew what he was thinking; not of the safety of the herd, but of what those awful Graybacks would do if they found their young foal. 

   “You’re right, Quillian,” said Ishana, watching her filly prance around in the grass, disappearing now and then when she happened to trip. “We must go,” and Ishana nickered softly to the suddenly hyper filly, who came bounding through the grass on gangly legs. The filly stopped and nosed her mother gently, smelling her and taking comfort in her presence. Ishana smiled, and looked to her mate, who did not smile back.

   “Quickly, Ishana,” he said curtly. “I fear we haven’t long to dawdle.” The giant ebony stallion turned on his heel, and broke into a brisk trot. He looked back over his shoulder, and whickered for Ishana and the new foal to follow.

   “Come now, little one,” cooed Ishana, shaking a long lock of mane from her bright eyes. She picked up her feet into an easy, ambling trot, and, just like glue, her filly stuck by her side.

   Looking back and seeing his mate and his daughter behind him, the big stallion surged forward into a gallop, stretching his thick, muscular neck out and reaching forward with hooves as black as night. Behind him, trotting slowly towards the Ruin Jungle, Ishana broke into a gallop, somewhat slower than Quillian’s, and smiled as her filly stumbled, uttered a small cry of displeasure, and then galloped swiftly after her.

   Father, mother, and daughter wasted no time in getting to the jungle path. Instead of slowing to go down a rather steep hill, Quillian sprang into the air, his massive, black feathered wings, almost three times the length of his body, spreading and allowing him to glide swiftly above the ground for several hundred yards. Ishana would have done the same, but for her new foal couldn’t fly yet.

   When at last they neared the jungle, Quillian slowed to a halt and shouldered his mate and child, silver-tipped ears swiveling constantly to hear any creatures coming their way from the jungle. They passed through a peninsula of trees to avoid being seen from the other end of the Valley of the Windmaker, and reappeared in the sun light just to the left of a large, somewhat nervous herd of Perecorns like themselves.

   Here, Quillian left his mate’s side and ambled over to the nervous herd, and was welcomed with warm nickers. Ishana stayed put, so as not to frighten her new filly with a sudden mass of Perecorns. The little scarlet clad foal had darted behind Ishana’s legs at the sight of the milling herd, and was peering cautiously out from behind her mother’s tail feathers.

   After a hurried discussion with Barzec, the commander of the herd’s Flyers, Quillian ambled back over to his mate, his eyes full of spite. When he spoke, his voice held a well-disguised note of hate. “They’re here,” he spat. “Barzec sent Mutai on a scouting mission when I left to get you. He says they’ve already crossed the Healing River, They’re already in the valley.” Quillian’s voice was so resentful even his mate feared his wrath just then. Ishana guess his anger was due to the fact they had crossed the Healing River. That river was sacred; any unpleasant disturbance in its waters could upset the spirits, and would cause the water to run poisonous. Ishana shuddered at the thought.

   “We will have to spend the night in the jungle,” said Quillian, eyeing the looming jungle with a look of deep loathing.

   “As long as we are safe from the Graybacks, I have no problem with that,” said Ishana stiffly.

   “Oh, it’s not the Graybacks that worry me most, love…It’s what’s in that jungle…”

   Quillian rounded on his herd, suddenly full of fierce determination. “Listen up,” he barked loudly over the nervous babble that died away quickly. “We have a poor situation at hand…” Several members of the herd shifted uneasily, but Quillian paid them no mind, and continued on sternly. “Barzec has informed me that a group of Graybacks has already crossed the Healing River, and are moving swiftly this way. I fear we will have to spend the night in the Ruin Jungle.”

   There were several outbursts at this, and many herd members backed away from the jungle and stared at Quillian as though he were insane. Ishana saw their slight rebellion, and it angered her. She took a fierce step forward, her head held high and her blue eyes ablaze with loving devotion for her Quillian.

   “What are you afraid of?” she asked, taking her mate’s right shoulder.

   A small mare stepped forward, her gangly son at her heels. “Ishana, you know perfectly well what we’re afraid of!” she said, shaking her head in disbelief and causing her flyaway white mane to fall into her dark eyes, full of fear.

   “I’m afraid I don’t,” said Ishana, frowning slightly. Quillian looked to his mate, puzzled.

   “There are many creatures in there that would make a nice snack out of us!” called a young stallion from the back of the herd. There was a murmur of agreement, over which another stallion spoke, “I would rather face the Graybacks than take my chances in the jungle!”

   “The Graybacks would finish us off quicker than any beast in that jungle!” cried Ishana, ignoring her filly that had wormed her way between she and Quillian. “We have no choice!” Ishana continued, looking from face to nervous face. “Our only hope is that forest, and we have the comfort of knowing that we have a strong, dedicated leader to see us through it!”

   There was a short silence following Ishana’s brave words, then the white haired mare that had spoken before stepped forward again. For a moment, Ishana thought she was going to argue, but the thin mare did no such thing. Instead, she grinned. “I agree, Ishana,” she said softly. “Forgive us, we should have seen that before. There is no danger, not with Quillian around.” The little red mare took Quillian’s left shoulder proudly, and, one by one, the herd backed them, afraid no more.

   “Thank you,” Quillian whispered in Ishana’s ear, then he raised his head and swiveled it around behind him to the gathered herd. “Where is Mutai?” he asked. At once, a rather large, red roan stallion stepped forward, his great cloven hooves of midnight blue prancing eagerly on the ground.

   “Mutai, are you up to a long flight?” Quillian asked, surveying the young stallion with his ruby eye.

   “Yes sir!” piped the young stallion, swishing his navy tail excitedly.

   “Then I need you to fly to Garalagahd’s peak in the Ruin Mountains. You will find a small herd there, of Perecorns like ourselves. Tell them not to use Gabrielle’s Pass for the next few days, tell them the Graybacks are on the hunt again. They’ll know what to do. We will be by the Eternal Waters, find us there when you are through,” said Quillian, turning to leave, and then turning back around. “Fly southwest first, through the Ruin Mountains, then go east through the Dead Marsh, and stay high, as high as you can go. Their valley is between two large peaks, you’ll find it.”

   Mutai nodded, his young face set with determination. He turned to go, but was suddenly rushed by a young mare, no older than he. She shook locks of seafoam green mane from her deep green eyes and flung herself upon Mutai, who looked very embarrassed.

   “Please, oh please, Mutai, be careful!” the mare cried. Mutai gently nuzzled her with his blue dipped muzzle, then freed himself from the mare, and turned to leave.

   “Mutai?” asked Quillian, stepping forward. Mutai looked over his shoulder at his leader. “Be careful.”

   “Yes sir,” said Mutai, and he took off at a gallop from a stand still. When he had gathered enough speed, and in a very short distance, he spread his enormous blue wings, and lifted effortlessly off from the ground.

   The young filly watched all this from behind her mother; her eyes filled with wonder at these beings that were her family. She watched with amazement as Mutai flew away, and squealed with laughter when he suddenly plummeted down, then flared his wings and swept away with the wind to the southeast. Something about the joy of flight registered itself in the filly, something she could not even begin to comprehend at her young age, but it filled her with a wonderful feeling, and she liked it.

   Quillian once again regained control of his herd, and they began to move into the jungle. The filly stayed glued to her dam’s side, terrified of this new, strange, dark place. Here the ground was not even, and not firm, like in the valley; but bumpy and rocky, and it jarred the filly’s sensitive little cloven hooves. There were spots where the ground pulled her in up to her knees, and she panicked and fought to get free. The trees loomed up at her, massive green giants who groaned and creaked in the breeze. Multi colored birds flitted from branch to branch, twittering away ceaselessly. Strange creatures with brightly colored skin and large, diamond shaped eyes skittered past, spooking the nervous herd.

   Twice the narrow, badly worn path dead-ended, and the herd was forced to push their way through solid walls of thick vegetation to find where it started again. The poor little filly was quickly exhausted, and her attention lagged severely. Ishana knew her foal needed rest, but the farther into the jungle they went, the safer resting would be.

   At a particularly difficult part on the path, where thick, woody branches of some kind of plant had grown at chest height, the tired, skittish herd was forced to push their way through. This was no easy task; the branches were nearly a foot thick, and didn't seem to want to bend either. Quillian pushed past them without a whole lot of trouble, but the smaller herd members were having a very lousy time trying to follow their leader.

   The mare in front of the little scarlet and gold feathered filly didn't seem to be paying attention as she pushed past the branches, and one particularly thick one snapped back and caught the filly under the chin and threw her over on her back.

   Ishana heard her filly’s cry over the rustlings of the bushes and the forlorn mumbling of the bedraggled herd, and stopped. “Come here, baby,” she cooed softly, and the filly scampered to her feet and bounded to Ishana. The light dappled silver mare nuzzled her foal, then called ahead to her mate.

   “Quillian, I think we need to stop.”

   ‘Not until nightfall,” came his gruff reply, but Ishana would have none of this.

   “My baby is tired, and she needs to rest before nightfall. We need to stop now,” she said firmly, stomping one pale silver hoof impatiently.

   From up ahead there came a sigh, then the line of horses came gratefully to a stop. “I guess I can’t argue when you put your foot down, Ishana…” said Quillian, rounding the corner ahead and coming into view. His ebony fur was splattered with mud from an earlier stream crossing where the stream had a steep, muddy bank. His long, gently curving ebony horn was covered with plant sap, from clearing away the plants, and he had a shallow gash on his shoulder from some nasty plant. Ishana nodded.

   “We both know you’d be lost without my help and guidance in this herd,” she said, her eyes shinning playfully.

   Quillian chuckled. “Is that so?” he asked, taking a step forward to his mate.

   “Yes,” nickered Ishana, dancing playfully out of his reach. Quillian snorted and shook his head at his mate.

   “You sure are something, Ishana,” he said lovingly, and Ishana smiled. The little filly, picking up on her mother’s good mood, danced around her mother’s ankles, making little squeaking noises.

   “I thought you said she was tired…” said Quillian as he watched his young daughter fool around.

   “She is,” said Ishana matter-of-factly. “Where are we going to rest?” she asked, surveying the dense, untamed jungle that pressed in on them from above, to the side, and from behind.

   “Well,” began Quillian, turning in circles to better see the area. “I have no idea,” he said finally, looking troubled.

   “Here is fine, love,” assured Ishana, and she cocked her hind leg to rest. The little filly pranced up, her big dark eyes darting left, then right, and taking in the forbidding jungle. Suddenly tired, she pressed up against Ishana and began to nurse. Quillian moved next to his mate and cocked his hind leg too, and gazed around at his herd, milling around on the path.

   Before long, they were off again, forcing their way roughly through the unyielding jungle. The young filly could hardly move her head fast enough to take in all the strange things in the forest that flew, jumped, swung, and sat on every branch in the towering, ageless trees. It was all so new to her; she didn't know what to think.

   But it didn't take her long to distinguish between friend and foe.

   Just a half an hour before the herd was to stop for the night, the filly stumbled upon a brightly colored serpent that hissed and struck with white fangs at her long legs. Ishana had quickly come to the rescue, of course, stomping on the serpent until it lay in bloody ruins on the forest floor, and the filly need never be told that those that hiss and bite are the enemy.

   Just as the last of the sun’s warm rays sank below the mountain range to the west, the herd happened upon a small clearing just off the trail. Quillian checked it out first, sniffing around and nosing through the spiky bushes that lined the area. When he was sure it was safe, he allowed the tired herd to file in and rest.

   “Are you ok, m’love?” asked Quillian gently as he watched his mate lower herself painfully to the ground.

   Ishana gave him a reassuring smile that did not seem to reach to her eyes, which were dark with pain. “I’m fine,” she lied, not wanting her mate to think her weak, or unable. “I just need some rest.”

Quillian didn't believe this, he was too smart for that, but he accepted it and sank down next to the little dappled silver mare and rested his giant head on her neck. Quillian didn't feel comfortable seeping on the ground. He wanted to be able to flee quickly if it was necessary, but that meant sleeping standing up, and he was too tired to do that. He contented himself with resting quietly besides Ishana, his foal curled up next to him.

   Ishana slept horribly that night. Not only did the forest keep her awake with its many threatening sounds, but her hocks and knees hurt badly from the days excursions. She didn't want to admit it, but she was no longer a young Perecorn. At almost sixteen turns old, she was beginning to feel her age. Her hocks hurt, her wing joints hurt, and her knees felt like they had rusted over. She wanted badly to stretch her legs out before her and relieve the pain she felt with her legs curled beneath her, but Quillian was next to her, and she didn't wish to wake him, or her filly.

   Quillian dozed fitfully, as did many other members of the herd. He jerked awake several times from awful dreams of his herd being eaten by a hungry pack of Sphinxes, and was halfway to his feet to attack them before he realized they were only in his sleep. He tossed and turned, annoyed his mate and his daughter, and finally settled to sleeping a little ways away, stretched out with his head resting on a tree root.

   Morning found the Windmaker herd stiff, sore, and remarkably even more tired than the night before. Always in a bad mood was Bane, who spent half his waking hours that day as they traveled complaining how tired he was and how his back ached so. Even the good-natured Barzec found reason to complain, but he tried to keep it to a minimum for Quillian’s sake.

   The day passed uneventfully, and as dusk loomed ahead, Quillian made a very welcome announcement. “Good news,” he called back over his shoulder with a grin. The herd looked at him with hallow eyes. “Were just a day away from the Eternal Waters!”

   There was a smattering of happy nickers, but the dead-on-its-feet herd could do little else to express their joy.

   They came to rest near the bank of a small stream that night, tired and worn as if they had just ran the entire way. It was earlier than they had intended to stop, but Quillian could not pass up such a nice resting spot that he had called a halt to the trek with still an hour of sun left. As he and his mate began helping Jondaliah the healer aid an injured mare, their young filly wandered off in search of something new to do.

   She wobbled across the sandy beach leading to the stream, her nose in the air and her eyes focused on the surrounding trees. She was so intent watching a pair of bright pink birds that she walked headlong into something. She backed up, her tiny hooves skittering on the sand, and looked in surprise as another foal was doing the same.

   The strange foal stared at her, and she stared back, a little frightened. Cautiously, the new foal extended his nose to her in a way of greeting. The foal’s nose touched hers, and the little filly let out a shriek and took off at a dead run. Squealing playfully, the new foal took off after her, his gangly legs a sight to see as they carried him across the soft sand.

   The young filly slid behind her mother and peeked out at the new colt. Ishana looked down at her daughter with wonder, then spied the little colt racing towards her and smiled. Ishana nudged Quillian, who turned from the mare he had been talking to and joined Ishana in grinning at the filly.

   The handsome black stallion sighed deeply. “Only a few days old and already chasing the colts,” he said, watching the filly take off after the little white, copper, and blue colt.

   Quillian and his mate were quickly joined by the white maned red mare that had spoken out the day the herd was forced to enter the Ruin Jungle. She didn't look very happy, and her jaw was set stubbornly. “Sir,” she said, addressing Quillian in the respectful manner, but her voice held none of the courtesy she displayed. “Sir, we’ve been about in this awful jungle for two days. I don’t mean to question you’re superb authority, but we were told a night was all we would spend. The herd is tired, and there hasn’t been much grazing on this narrow path. I beg your forgiveness if you think I am steeping over the line here, but I think we need to head back. Surely the Graybacks are gone?” The older mare finished and dropped her head respectfully, one white hoof pawing nervously at the ground.

   “Indeed, I did promise one night only, Soci,” Quillian answered, wrinkling his nose slightly. “But I merely intended to be sure the Graybacks had left the valley completely before moving the herd possibly into harm’s way.” The little red mare nodded, and Quillian continued. “As for grazing, I agree. My stomach has not rumbled more in years. I’m sure if we ventured off the path a ways, we would find a sufficient, if not edible, food source. Do you agree?”

   Soci tossed her head in answer, and Quillian turned to face his herd. “Be it food you seek?” he called, his ruby eyes darting from Perecorn to Perecorn. There was a general babble of agreement, over which Quillian beckoned the herd follow him.

   “This way, then! We will have to travel off the beaten path, but it be well worth it if we find a place to graze.” The downtrodden herd moved slowly after its leader, who wasted no time in crashing through the nearest wall of bushes and tangled vines.

   Ishana whickered for her foal, which came bounding up with her new playmate at her side. The aging gray mare took a quick look at this new acquirement of her filly’s. He was an adorable little colt; all white with copper stockings to his hocks on his hind legs. His rump was splashed with copper spots that were lined with turquoise blue that scattered down his back legs to his stockings. His fuzzy mane and tail tassel were soft copper, and his tiny cloven hooves were copper as well. His little wings glowed the same brassy color, but each feather was tipped with bright blue. The same pattern appeared on his tail feathers and neck feathers.

   Ishana shouldered her filly, and shoed the colt away to Soci, his mother, then followed her mate into the bushes.

   The journey through the jungle, off the path and away from all that was familiar, made the herd even more tense. Strange sounds bombarded them from each angle, bazaar beasts hurried past, keeping to the shadows and spooking the Perecorns. Quillian didn't like what he had gotten himself into, much less dragging his herd along with him. He feared the beasts of lore that lurked in the depths of the forest, and felt a sick swoon of emotional agony every time he thought of what they would do to his new foal.

   Finally, when the herd refused to travel farther in search of food, he gave up and called a halt to the expedition.

   “Quillian,” came Soci’s voice from behind the big stallion. “Sir, we’ve been going on for hours, sir. We’re tired, and my colt can no longer stand.” She indicated the heap of bronze and blue feathers at her feet.

   With a deep sigh, Quillian spoke. “I know, Soci. I am here too. I am hungry and tired just like the rest of my herd. But take a look at the ground,” he said, throwing his long silver mane from side to side.

   Soci eyed him suspiciously, like she didn't think looking at the ground was going to solve anything, but she averted her dark eyes to the forest floor.

   “You see that?” asked Quillian, nudging a small, flowery shrub with his giant hoof. “And that there?” he motioned to a deep red fern next to Ishana, who was standing off a little ways from him. “That is all that I can find. No grass, no honey clover, nor a single leaf from the Singing Trees. There is nothing to eat. It does no good to complain to me about it, I am suffering too. But I promise,” he said, speaking loudly so the whole herd could hear, “I promise that as soon as the danger has passed, we will return to the Valley of the Windmaker.”

   Soci didn't argue. “Yes sir, forgive me,” she muttered, and stalked away, her tiny colt struggling to his feet and ambling clumsily after her. Quillian turned and lumbered over to his mate.

“The mood is tense, Ishana,” he said quietly, his ruby red eyes fixed on the milling herd that was barely visible through the thick vegetation.

   “It will be better as soon as we get out of here,” replied Ishana, allowing her foal to nurse.

   “Hard times…” said Quillian. “The Graybacks are more relentless than ever. I fear we won’t always be able to retreat to the jungle. Soon they will follow us in here, and then where will we go?” His voice was tense, and Ishana reached up and lipped at his cheek gently to calm him.

   “Worry not, m’love,” she spoke kindly. “We will find refuge elsewhere if that happens. Do not speak of such things now. Rest.”

   Quillian heaved a deep, impressive sigh. He turned his massive head to Ishana and returned her nuzzle gratefully, then lowered his head and closed his eyes. But he found he couldn’t sleep, though he didn't blame himself. He opened one dull eye and was surprised to find himself staring into the dark eyes of his foal. He smiled weakly, and snorted softly at her.

   The tiny filly sorted back, her face lit with glee. She plopped herself on the ground and stared up at him with adoration. Quillian couldn’t suppress the huge smile that broke across his face. He looked up to Ishana, but she wasn’t there.

   Quillian felt the first note of panic rise in his heart for days. He jerked his head up, his eyes suddenly wide and moving swiftly through the plant life to find her. “Ishana?” he called, swallowing back his fear. “Ishana?”

   But he didn't have to look far, for Ishana came from behind a tall bristly fern and ambled over to him.

   Quillian sighed with relief at the sight of his mate.

   “Quillian, I’ve just been to see Barzec,” Ishana informed him, clearing away his nagging questions. “I told him maybe we should send a Flyer up to scan the area. If the Graybacks are gone, we need to know. The herd is getting rather…angry, to say the least.”

   “It sounds like a fine idea,” said Quillian, smiling at his beloved mate.

   “That’s what Barzec thought. He needs your approval to send up a scout, though. He’s back behind that fern,” said Ishana, throwing her head in the direction she had mentioned.

   “Thank you, m’love,” said Quillian, and he walked off. Ishana watched him go with empathy in her blue eyes. She knew how hard this was for her mate. Indeed, the herd had fallen on hard times. She knew Quillian didn't like to see his herd suffer, and it hurt him when they did. With a small sigh, Ishana walked quickly back to her foal, who met her half way.

   Ishana nuzzled her foal gently with her graying muzzle, and the little foal nuzzled back. The older mare could hardly remember her first foal, a colt that hadn't lived long enough to be named. Foals in the Windmaker herd had to live to be a month old, and then they were named at the Acceptance Ceremony. Tears of grief filled Ishana’s eyes as she recalled the ugly day that the Sphinx had attacked the herd. They usually didn't come out into the Valley; they preferred to hunt only in the Jungle, but food had been scarce, and a recent fire in the jungle had driven them to feed in placed they wouldn’t normally. A storm was brewing; the air was still; and the herd was unaware as the Sphinx plummeted from the sky. There were many of them, too many for the herd to take on at once, but Quillian had charged into their pack, scattering them like leaves in a high wind. It had all happened so fast, Ishana didn't know what was going on. Before she could figure it all out, one of the giant creatures was on her colt, snarling and snapping its horribly sharp fangs. Ishana had thrown herself at the Sphinx, barreling into him and knocking him askew. She had then put herself between that horrible creature and her colt, but she didn’t even remotely intimidate the Sphinx. It had pounced, slashing her shoulder deep with iron claws. There was nothing she could do as she lay helpless and bleeding on the ground, and watched and screamed as the Sphinx had dragged her son away…

   Ishana’s deep blue eyes welled over with the tears she had tried to hold back, and she hid her face in her filly’s coat to avoid embarrassment. Quillian had later organized a hunt to track down and slay the terrible beast that had killed his son. Ishana had never seen her mate so angry and upset at the same time. Barzec told Ishana after the hunt that Quillian had gone on a rampage when he had see the Sphinx that had eaten the colt. Barzec described it as ‘a terrible sight to behold, Quillian rearing and screaming, goring the creature time and time again with his horn, then trampling it into the ground.’” Ishana had been so grief stricken for years to come she had said she didn't want to ever bare another foal, but soon she realized that was a mistake…

   Barzec and Quillian were deep in discussion behind the fern.

   “Yes, yes, it’s all very well planned,” agreed Barzec is his deep voice, “But I have one urgent question of safety.”

   “Go on,” Quillian said, blowing his forelock out of his eyes.

   “Sir, I want to be sure our scout cannot be seen. If he flies out of the forest he will surely be spotted by the Graybacks, provided they are still in the valley…” Barzec let his voice fade, and looked to his leader, hoping he would have the answer.

   “I see what you are saying, Barzec,” said Quillian slowly, his brain working very fast to come up with a solution. “If he were to be seen, it would give away our hiding place, and we can not afford that…” The big stallion fell silent, lost in thought.

   “This all depends on whether the Graybacks are still here or not,” interjected Barzec.

   “Yes, but it’s a gamble either way,” Quillian said his ears pinned in concentration.

   “Do we risk it?” asked Barzec tersely.

   “No,” said Quillian flatly. “Our herd is at stake. We can take no risks.” Barzec nodded, and both he and the leader elapsed into intense thinking.

   “Sir…” Barzec said slowly, after almost five minutes of thinking. “Sir, if we sent a Flyer up, and got him to stay in the trees, he could go to the edge of the jungle and scout the area without being seen…”

   Quillian looked down in amazement at his shoulder friend. “How does a Perecorn stay in the trees?” he asked, as if the idea were ludicrous.

   “Well, it’s a bit new, and odd, I will admit, sir, but it’s the best I can think of. Unless you have another suggestion-“

   “No, I haven’t, but please explain how a full grown Perecorn would perch in a tree,” interrupted Quillian.

   “Yes sir,” said Barzec, his face now shinning with excitement. “He would have to fly from tree to tree, sir, not perch. And stay low, just beneath the canopy, or he risks being seen. It would have to be Tenza, he’s our best flyer…”

   Quillian considered this, his head cocked slightly to the side. “Very well, Barzec. It’s the only plan we have…Tenza!”

   A rather small stallion quickly left the group of stallions he was talking to and hurried over to the fern behind which Barzec and Quillian stood.

   “Yes sir?” asked Tenza, the small tan and burgundy splashed Flyer Barzec had recommended.

   “Barzec, explain the situation to him,” said Quillian, suddenly weary.

   “Yes sir,” replied Barzec, and he launched into the explanation of the situation. When he was done, the young Tenza looked astonished.

   “In…In the trees, sir?” he asked, looking from Barzec to Quillian uncertainly.

   “In the trees,” confirmed Barzec. “Do you accept, Tenza?”

   The tan and burgundy stallion lifted his blue eyes to the trees, a look of deep concentration on his face, like he was trying to imagine himself in one. “Challenge accepted, sir,” he said finally, half bowing to his squad leader and herd leader.

   “Remember,” reminded Barzec in a warning tone. “If you go above the tree tops, you will be seen. Again, I don’t know that the Graybacks are still here, but if they are, we need to know. Swift flying and far seeing, Tenza…”

   The young stallion bowed again, then turned and walked off a little ways to a spot relatively clear of vegetation. Barzec and Quillian followed him at a distance, their faces rather grim.

   Tenza lifted his head once again to the trees, looking for an opening between the tightly knit branches to fly through. Upon finding one to his liking, the stallion spread his tan and burgundy wings. Her beat them once, twice, faster and faster until the plants around him were blows tight to the ground. Quillian and Barzec turned their faces from the gale that Tenza was creating. He needed a lot of power to get his body off the ground, and it was very difficult to do from a standstill. But the herd’s Flyer’s were trained rigorously for years before they became part of the elite squad, and taking off from the ground without a take off run was one skill they had to completely master before they were accepted.

   Barzec and Quillian watched tensely as Tenza’s front legs lifted off the ground; the stallion wobbled unsteadily, then was fully air born. Relieved smiles worked their ways onto the watching stallion’s faces.

   Tenza flapped with magnificent wings harder and harder in the still air, struggling to gain altitude as he made his way slowly for the treetops, then, with a mighty forward sweeping of his wings, he took off. He folded his wings through the hole in the trees, then disappeared from sight.

   The crowd of Perecorns that had gathered below watched Tenza go then turned to their leader for the explanation.

   “Tenza is going to scout the valley for the Graybacks,” Quillian explained. “When he returns we will know for sure if it is safe to return to the valley.”

   With that, the weary leader turned and disappeared back into the foliage. Barzec watched him go. He too was aware of the sudden strain on his friend. Barzec had known Quillian since he was a colt. Quillian had been so full of young life then, and so eager to take on the responsibilities of leadership. He grew up to fast… thought Barzec sadly. He’s old before his time.

   Ishana hadn't seen Tenza take off, so it came as a surprise to her when Quillian returned from behind the fern and told her of the situation.

   “What do we do now?” asked Ishana as her daughter nursed.

   “Wait,” said Quillian shortly. Ishana wrinkled her nose at him. The big stallion lowered himself to the ground, crushing the undergrowth with his massive girth. Ishana sank to her knees beside him, her foal scampered away to look at a large, acid green camouflaged butterfly.

   “Relax, Quillian,” coaxed Ishana, but her mate remained tense. “What’s wrong?”

   “This was not the way I would have wanted our daughter’s first impression of the world to have been like,” spat Quillian suddenly, making Ishana start. “It’s not how I wanted her to come to terms with the harsh realities of our realm. She is so young; I don’t want her to be frightened by this jungle. It will leave a lasting imprint on her. How will she ever become a great leader is she is scared of a jungle?”

   Ishana felt a slow smile creep across her face. Quillian was so cute when he was worried. The silvery mare allowed a laugh to escape her lips as she watched her foal frolicking after the green butterfly, bouncing and squealing with delight.

   “She looks just fine to me, m’love. She doesn’t look even the tiniest bit scared…” Ishana said, flipping her mate’s mane over his neck with her muzzle.

   “She’s fine now,” retorted the leader. “But wait till she learns what lurks hidden in this jungle, Ishana! As young as she is, it’s bound to scare her! She should have been learning life’s lessons out in the open, where she can run and play. There is so much here to harm her…It’s not as safe as the plain…”

   Ishana stopped messing with his hair and stared at him. “My dear, the plain is not as safe as you think. Grass cats still stalk in the east end, the Graybacks come and go, always looking for a foal to snatch. No place in out realm is safe, not completely,” she said softly.

   “But-“ Quillian began to argue, but Ishana shushed him and went on.

   “Besides, love, fear is a healthy thing. No one in the whole of the Valley is without fear. Fear brings about a certain healthy respect for that which causes it. I doubt a single member of out herd would survive without fear, much less our daughter,” Ishana said wisely.

   Quillian was silent for a moment, reveling in his mate’s words. What she said was true, and very wise, but Quillian could not except it now. He was too tense, too stressed to see reason. “Fear is weakness,” he said stubbornly.

   “Fear is knowledge,” corrected Ishana. “Everyone is afraid of something. I pray to the Windmaker that our daughter learns to fear.”

   Quillian glared at his mate with one intense red eye. “I hope she is wise enough to be fearless.”

   “Oh Quillian!” snapped Ishana, her motherly patience wearing threadbare. “Listen to your self! Don’t you realize how stupid you sound?”

   Quillian snorted angrily, and turned his head away form his glaring mate.

   “Every one fears! Every Perecorn, every creature, every being with a brain and common sense fears! Without fear, we’d all be dead. Without caution, we wouldn’t be here, and neither would you!” Ishana couldn’t believe how thickheaded her mate was just then. He was usually wiser than this.

   “I don’t fear,” mumbled Quillian gruffly.

   “Oh yes you do!” snapped Ishana, her voice cradling a dangerous tone. “You were terrified the day we were attacked by the Sphinx! You were trembling when you came to me, lying on the ground and covered with blood. You told me yourself, you were scared that I would die! Your scared now, admit it!”

   “No!” Quillian snapped back loudly, baring is teeth, his ears pinned to his neck.

   “Oh yes, you are.”

   “Think what you want, mare,” hissed Quillian, his eyes a rage of ruby fire. “But I do not fear.”

   Ishana stared at her mate, stricken that he would call her ‘mare’. Stallions only called females ‘mare’ if they considered them inferior, and not worth talking to. When she spoke again, Ishana’s voice was trembling. “Please, love, please don’t loose your head.”

   Quillian looked away, but Ishana continued on, hoping that he was listening.

   “Please don’t loose it, Quillian. I know times are tough, but you mustn’t give in. It’s not your doing, don’t be so hard on your self. Life takes unexpected turns, love, and there is nothing you can do but try your hardest to get life back on track. I’m begging you, please don’t go to pieces on us. The herd needs you to get us through this…” Ishana said quietly, soothingly to her mate. Quillian stayed silent. “I need you,” whispered Ishana, nuzzling Quillian’s neck.

   Ishana wasn’t sure if what she had said had sunk into her mate, for he remained quiet and unmoving, but she made a silent prayer in her mind to the goddess Windmaker that Quillian would come to his senses.

   The silver mare, dappled with spots of white, sighed and laid her head gently on Quillian’s forelegs, stretched out in front of him, and closed her eyes. Quillian looked down at the mare next to him, so peaceful and beautiful, and his heart felt saddened. He had indeed been listening to her words of wisdom, and he was almost shocked that something so true and wise came from the young mare next to him, then he reminded himself that she was not young at all…

The silence that descended over the herd now that all excitement had passed was short lived, for moments after Quillian and Ishana’s heated argument, something large came hurtling through the trees, straight for them.

   The herd scattered into the trees; Ishana and Quillian bolted to their feet; the little filly ran right to her mother’s side, terrified.

   The falling object was a blur of dark red and tan color. It landed on its side in the clearing of sorts the herd had been resting in, and threw itself to its feet. It was Tenza, and he looked petrified.

   “Run!” He shouted at the herd, who had been so startled by his sudden appearance that they had bolted for the trees. They looked to one another now, confused and suddenly scared.

   “What in the name of Windmaker is going on?” thundered Barzec, looking scandalized at his scout’s less-than-orderly behavior.

   “Sir,” cried Tenza, throwing himself at the captain’s feet in a bow. “Sir, they’re here!”

   “Who?” asked Barzec. “Where?”

   The herd had gathered around now, casting anxious sidelong glances at each other. “The Graybacks!” cried Tenza, panicked. His blue eyes rolled in his head with fear, and he quickly bowed again as Quillian appeared at Barzec’s shoulder, Ishana standing behind him and out of the way.

   “What about them?” asked Quillian sternly, taking over Barzec’s questioning.

   “Hold!” interrupted Barzec before Tenza could answer. “Did you fly down through the canopy, Tenza? Were you above the trees?”

   “It doesn’t matter, sir!” said Tenza. “I flew just like you told me, but I didn't have to go to the edge of the jungle to look for the Graybacks; they found me!” The herd looked shocked at this news, and Quillian even more so.

   “How?” he asked, his silver tail tassel swishing from side to side with nerves.

   “I didn't even get half way sir, they’re in the forest! Only a little more than a half a mile from here! I flew right over them, they saw me, and I flew back as fast as I could, sir!”

   Quillian uttered a Perecorn swearword. “They must have picked up our trail!” he said, his heart beating very fast. “We must go, quickly!” The herd didn't need telling twice. They spun around and didn't even wait for Quillian’s orders before bolting off into the trees.

   Quillian half reared, craning his neck over the mass of multi-colored wings for his mate. He spotted them, Ishana trying desperately to calm her filly. Quillian spread his massive black wings and leapt into the air. As he was once lieutenant of the Flyer fleet, he was an exceptional flyer, and had hardly any trouble soaring across the forest floor.

   He landed heavily next to Ishana, who looked at him pleadingly. Quillian nudged the filly hard from behind, and the little creature took off, his sire and dam beside him in an instant.

   But suddenly, from up ahead, there came a terrible war cry, followed by an awful shriek of a wounded animal. The stampede of Perecorns suddenly doubled back, and came charging straight for the lagging leader and his mate and child.

   “Move!” the black stallion shouted at his mate, and Ishana, her giant silver and blue wings outspread to protect her filly, dodged the oncoming herd, and escaped to the side.

   Quillian plunged on ahead, battling through the undergrowth, until he reached a wide stream. On the opposite side was the most horrible sight he had yet to see in his years of leadership; a mare, only a year younger than he, was sprawled out on the sandy stretch of bank next to the stream, her back legs floating in the water. A thick wooden spear was sunk deep in her shoulder, going in at an angle so that it came out her armpit. Silvery pink blood was spewing everywhere; it looked like the spearhead had pierced an artery. Gathered around the bleeding mare were a large group of the foulest creatures ever to walk through the Valley of the Windmaker- Graybacks.

   The nearest one looked up, its face, like a human’s only with a short, wide snout, alight with the thrill of the hunt. He jumped up and down on bowed legs, waving his own spear in the air and chattering to his fellow Graybacks. The group looked up from the fallen, terrified mare, and their cruel, steely black eyes fixed on Quillian.

   The massive stallion felt his heart leap into his throat; his eyes showed white, and he turned and ran. The Graybacks wouldn’t give up just because their quarry ran, though. They took off after him, their spears raised high and their war cries echoing in the suddenly silent jungle.

   Quillian charged back in the direction his herd had fled then realized he would be leading the enemy right to them, and wheeled around to face the Graybacks.

   The humanoid Graybacks looked startled; rarely ever did their prey face them down like this. They looked to their leader, a particularly nasty tempered male, for instructions. The big male fixed Quillian with eyes like chilled steel, his wide muzzle cracking into a malicious, sharp toothed grin. Quillian looked him straight in the eye, blood pounding in his ears and an emotion he had never felt before coursing through him like poison- hate that the Graybacks had dared cross into their valley and through the Healing River, and sorrow for the dying mare across the stream.

   At the same moment that the lead Grayback charged forward, his spear held in front of him, Quillian sprang forward, ears pinned and sharp, cloven hooves ready to trample.

   The Graybacks followed their leader, shrieking and screaming the hunting cries. Quillian let out a threatening roar so unequine in made the oncoming charge halt for a brief moment.

   From nearly a quarter of a mile away, the scattered Perecorns heard their leader sound his battle cry, and they stopped running. Barzec, the second in command, wheeled around faced the herd. “We fight!” he bellowed. “Charge!”

   The herd galloped off through the jungle through the wide path of downed plants they had trampled over in their stampede.

   The herd arrived just as the lead Grayback’s spear grazed Quillian’s flank. Screaming an agony and unsuppressed hatred, the giant black and silver stallion reared to his full and most impressive height. He came back down to earth with a sickening crunch as he landed his full weight on a Grayback hunter.

   Quillian never noticed his herd come to help, and he was surprised when Barzec appeared at his side, whirling and kicking to defend his friend and his herd. The rest of the herd came forth in a blinding fury of teeth and flying hooves.

   Tenza and his shoulder friend Karinz fought side by side, driving the fighting Graybacks back to the stream. An angry Grayback hurled a spear at short distance at Barzec, who smacked it aside with a swipe of his wing and drove his horn through the enemy’s chest. He spluttered blood from his mouth, then went limp.

   Cin and his mate Tomii cornered a Grayback adolescent against a tree and gored him repeatedly while fending off the rescuing Graybacks from behind with swift kicks.

   Plita, though only a year old, fought well for her size, seizing a Grayback’s spear form his hand and trampling him.

   Kiri-Bin, a nomadic mare from the Ruin Mountains, fought alongside her mate Fajera, a wicked tempered Flyer. Fajera held down a Grayback while Kiri rammed him through with his own spear.

   Barzec left his leader’s side to help his brother, Braze, who was cornered near the stream by a small group of snarling Graybacks, one wielding a crossbow. Braze whinnied in fright, tossing up his head and half-rearing as the Graybacks drew near. The crossbow Grayback raised his weapon, pointing it for the yearling’s heart, but Barzec charged up from behind him, snarling and rearing. He knocked the Grayback down, but not before the foul creature had fired his crossbow; but because of Barzec’s interference, the arrow had only hit Braze’s forearm, and had done no real damage.

   And then it was all over.

   It had been a massacre for the Graybacks. Their bodies lay all over the blood-soaked jungle floor. The herd came back together, panting and winded, bloody and injured.

   Quillian looked down at the broken and bleeding bodies of the defeated Graybacks, and let out a final whuff of anger. Barzec returned to his side, shouldered by a hobbling Braze.

    Then a sudden, horrible truth dawned on him. The bloodied leader broke swiftly away from the herd, charged across the stream, and threw himself to the fallen mare’s side. Please don’t be dead…he prayed silently as he gently nosed the mare’s neck, searching for a pulse.

   The white mare’s eyes fluttered open to reveal dilated yellow irises. She made a small noise, barely audible over the splashing of the herd as they crossed the stream to join Quillian and the injured white and pale yellow painted mare.

   There was sudden agonized shout from somewhere in the crowding herd, and the masses parted to allow a panic stricken Tenza to come through.

   “Decane!” cried Tenza, dropping to the mare’s side.

   “Ten…Tenza?” asked the mare weakly, trying to focus her eyes on her mate.

“Quillian!” pleaded Tenza, turning to the leader. “Quillian do something! She’s dying!”

   “Jondaliah! Jondaliah, come quick!” called Quillian to his dam. An aged mare, white with golden hooves and golden tipped feathers on her wings pushed the crowd aside. She was an old mare, even old for Perecorn standards, but she was an adequate healer with the medicinal and magical knowledge that most healers never acquire in a lifetime.

   “I’m here,” said the mare in her soft flute of a voice. She spoke to the profusely bleeding mare softly, reassuringly as she cleared her stepson and Tenza away. “Fear not, child,” she said. “You are in good hands.”

   The old healer passed her milky eyes over the wound; her wizened face pulled in a grimace. “It’s bad, she whispered, so only Quillian could hear.

   “Well, can you fix it?” asked Quillian as he stroked the mare’s heaving side gently.

   “I can only try…The spear went right through a major artery…” The mare spoke as she began to work. But only a moment later, it was apparent there was nothing anyone could do. The Perecorns were not adept to heal such things, and though Jondaliah had a powerful magic of her own, it was of no use here.

   “Break it to him gently, Quillian,” Jondaliah said sadly, and both she and Quillian knew who she was talking about.

With a sigh full of sadness, Quillian pushed through the crowd and ambled down to the water's edge where Tenza was waiting, shaking with fear. “Tenza…” Quillian began awkwardly, but the burgundy splashed tan stallion knew what he was going to say, and broke into choking sobs.

   “Is she already gone?” he asked, his entire body numb with shock and grief.

   Quillian shouldered the stallion in a comforting manner, but he knew there was no way to comfort a broken heart. “No,” he said softly. “But it won’t take long. Would you like to go see her?”

   Tenza merely nodded, and Quillian had to support the young stallion on his shoulder through the crowd, who parted before their leader. Tenza sprawled on the ground beside his mate, terrible convulsions of grief racking his young body.

   “Tenza…” nickered Decane weakly, her eyes drifting in and out of focus. She had lost a lot of blood, and her head felt very light, she couldn’t keep her mate in focus, and she was drifting in and out of consciousness.

   “It’s me, m’love,” whispered Tenza through his tears. The dawn splashed mare shuddered slightly as her body began to shut down, the wound on her leg spilling less blood, as there was barely any left to spill.

   “Please don’t go,” wailed Tenza, hiding his swollen eyes in his mate’s soft yellow mane.

   “Don’t cry, love…”whispered Decane, her voice so soft only Tenza could hear. “It’ll be alright…”

   “Don’t go, Decane!” cried Tenza, breaking down into uncontrollable sobbing. “Oh Windmaker, please spare her!” pleaded the young stallion, lying next to his mate. “Spare her!”

   “Tenza, listen…listen,” came the hoarse voice of his mate. The maroon and beige stallion lifted his face to his mate’s.

“You mustn't cry…” the mare broke off as her body spasmed horribly. Her yellow eyes rolled into her head, her body went rigid, and then she went limp again. She continued, this time her voice was fainter, like an echo of the past, and her words more urgent.

   “Be strong, Tenza…” Decane spasmed again, and blood poured from the wound in her shoulder. The dying mare’s body twitched, and her breath became shallow and raspy.

   “Decane?” Tenza asked, trying to keep his mate from slipping off in silent death. If she kept talking, maybe she would ride this out.

   “Tenza, do not dwell on passings…” the mare whispered. The entire herd was gathered around the two, watching with bated breath and eyes heavy with tears.

   “Don’t go!” wailed Tenza.

   “The…the Windmaker…she calls…me. I must go…” breathed the mare faintly. She summoned up all her strength, the strength that she felt disappearing rapidly from her body, and offered Tenza a small, weak smile. “Good bye, beloved Tenza…” Decane’s body wretched again, went rigid, then she collapsed, the last breath stolen from her lungs by the kiss of death.

   For a long moment Tenza watched in silence, hardly daring to believe that his mate was gone. Then he laid his head on her cheek, his front legs intertwined with her own, and wept.

   As was the custom of a Passing, the herd bowed their head in unison, their eyes closed, tears slowly dripping from their cheeks. Quillian bowed his head to the dead mare, then rose to his feet and stepped back into the herd.

   Jondaliah moved forward, one of her magnificent gold wings sweeping the ground, the other reaching to the sky. She laid the lowered wing on Decane’s still side, and the Passing Ceremony began.

   “The herd of the Windmaker acknowledges the passing of the mare Decane, loving mate of Tenza, and a beloved member of this herd.” Tenza sobbed loudly, but Jondaliah continued in a solemn voice full of passion and an unearthly ringing. “The herd of the Windmaker now sends the spirit of Decane to the goddess Windmaker on swift wings.” The healer bowed down, one wing still touching the mare’s body lightly, the other still extended skyward, as was the ancient custom of the Passing.

   The herd bowed down in perfect unison with the healer, their many and varied horns touching the ground before their one outstretched leg, the other tucked behind them. Jondaliah rose up, but the herd stayed as they were, their eyes still closed. The healer began to chant an ancient song. As she chanted the herd swayed to and fro, humming in a monotone voice. The healer began to chant faster and faster, the words turning into a beautiful, sad song. She sang from her heart, for the Passing of a Perecorn was a deeply mourned thing, mourned more deeply than any other living thing, for other things were not pure, and therefore didn't know any pure emotions.

   The song came to an end, and as the last trembling note died off into the still forest, the kneeling herd rose to its feet, their eyes opened at last.

   “Goddess Windmaker, we send Decane to you with the hopes you will make her time with you worth her short time in our world.” Jondaliah removed her wing from the mare’s side, and spread both her wings above her head.

   “Swift flying and far seeing, Decane of the Windmaker herd,” said Jondaliah softly, and the ceremony was complete. A stiff silence followed, broken only by the nerve-racking sobs from the shaking heap on the ground that was Tenza.

   One by one the herd members moved forward and knelt to the deceased Decane, allowing their horns to touch her wound softly.

   Through it all, the little filly had gazed with a sort of petrified wonder from her mother’s side. This was her first Passing, the first of many that she wouldn’t understand, and never would. The young foal moved with her mother to the fallen mare’s side, and squealed with fright at the sight of so much blood. Her mother made a soft whistling sound to sooth her, then continued on past the dead Decane.

   Quillian watched his mourning herd with heavy eyes. It had been such a long day, full of adventure, loss, and bloody battles. It hurt to see his herd, the one he had sworn to protect, grieve like this. The stallion berated himself for his carelessness. If he had only ran ahead of his herd when they had fled, he could have prevented such devastating sorrow. But it was over now. There was nothing he could do to ease Decane’s passing in the minds of his herd.

   The ebony stallion’s eyes fell on the shuddering form of Tenza, sprawled beside his mate. With a heavy heart, Quillian went to him, and nudged him to him feet. The young Flyer resisted Quillian, flinging himself back down on the blood-soaked earth, but Quillian, displaying a sad patience for the poor stallion, pulled him gently back up again, and then placed his body between the dead mare and her devoted mate.

   “It does not do to dwell,” said the stallion kindly, but his words fell on deaf ears. Tenza ignored him, and instead concentrated on trying to dodge the leader to get back to Decane’s side. Quillian put his chest to Tenza’s and gently pushed the stallion back to the edge of the stream.

   “She is gone now,” Quillian said, hoping to get through to his young herd mate. “No amount of grieving will bring her back, and it won’t ease the pain of her passing. Please let it go, and rejoice in the fact that she is no longer in pain. She is with the Windmaker now.”

   Tenza, who had turned to face the stream, now whipped back around to face his leader angrily. “She would have never been in pain if it weren’t for you!” he cried, his once handsome face screwed up with rage.

   Quillian took a step back from Tenza, his own face showing concern. He hadn't thought Tenza would think of it this way, though the little stallion was right; it was his fault.

“Tenza, I-“ stuttered Quillian, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute as he felt the eyes of his herd watching.

   “You should have been in front!” yelled Tenza, his deep blue eyes bugging slightly with anger. He pinned his ears and bared his teeth, his veins pumping his brain full of hatred. “It’s your fault!” he bellowed, and took a threatening step towards Quillian, who pinned his ears in response.

   But before Tenza could start the fight he so longed to be apart of, Barzec leapt between the two angry stallions, nostrils flared wide and his wings fluffed out nervously.

   “Tenza, you’re out of line!” snapped Barzec, glaring at his scout.

   “Oh am I?” questioned Tenza, his eyes showing white. “Maybe so, but my reason still stands! Maybe your leader should have been more responsible! He shouldn’t have let this happen!” shrieked the little Perecorn stallion, spit flying as he spoke.

   “I will not allow you to talk to your leader that way!” countered Barzec, his voice rising in volume.

   “Some leader!” bellowed Tenza, and he turned and stormed away. Barzec watched him go with narrowed eyes full of disbelief. Never had a member of the herd spoken like that to a commanding officer, much less the leader himself. Barzec snorted with disgust and turned to face his friend.

   “I’m so sorry, Quillian…” he began, but Quillian was walking away, head lowered and feet dragging, the entire herd watching with slightly open mouths.

   Quillian marched slowly off into the bushes, every nerve in his body trembling and Tenza’s words swirling around and around in his brain.

   “Quillian?” called a familiar voice behind him. The big stallion ignored it. “Quillian, are you alright? Where are you going?” Quillian stopped and looked with sad eyes over his shoulder at Ishana, who was standing next to their foal, looking worried.

   “Away,” answered Quillian shortly, and that’s just where he went. The ebony leader pushed his way through dense vegetation that sprang back behind him, hiding him from view.

   The little filly looked up at her mother’s worried face and knew something was wrong. Ishana looked down at he filly, her own eyes burdened with her mate’s bruised pride.

   “It’ll be alright, little one,” said Ishana, more to reassure herself than her daughter. “It’ll be alright…”