"Prelude to Equinox Rising" by Amy ´Insom´ Downum

   The lilting expanse of grassland rolled on before Lyrèan in vast, unfathomable amounts. He threw his head high, shrieking a clarion of pure jubilance into the storm-frothed skies above. Leaden clouds churned and grumbled; veins of lightning coursed.

   The wind blew from the west, from the ocean blue. It smelled of pungent sea salt and storm. The grass flying by beneath his hooves billowed and whistled, calling in the coming storm. Lyrèan trilled again, leaping clean into the air, suspended but for a moment, and then falling to earth.

   For the moment he was lost, playing a colt’s game of innocent delight, calling to the wind riding blackbirds above as they skittered wildly through the approaching storm’s gale to take shelter in the scrawny line of bedraggled trees upon the horizon. He was Lyrèan, son of Honovi and Eiviah. He was free. He was wild, untamed, and unshackled by Law. In this alone he rejoiced; dancing through the deserted plain on feather-light hooves until the sweet call of his mate brought him home.

   She was the colour of autumn sunset: orange and mauve and crimson blended together to recreate the late day sky upon her coat. Her eyes were as clear as summer’s noon, cloudless of guilt and immoral impurities. Her belly was ripe with unborn potential. Lyrèan nuzzled her close, breathing the warm scent of her coat and the cool, refreshing whip of the wind. Thunder sounded in the tumult above. Lyrèan spoke.

   “We must take shelter, my mate.” His voice was soft, a tenor, no deeper than a she-wolf’s howl. “Apchè, are the trees to far for you to travel?” His mate whuffed softly over the wind.

   “Nay, my love,” she replied in her own muted tone, like the faint trickle of water of smooth river stones. “I shall beat you there!” The sunfire mare reared and shied away, landing a smarting nip to Lyrèan’s haunch as she kicked into a swift canter down the brow of the knoll. Lyrèan whickered a laugh and dove to meet her. Above, the clouds belled out, releasing their torrential brood in stinging assaults of ice cold rain. Wings outstretched to feel the surge of air, the mated pair galloped full into the horizon, until their wild run was cut short by a line of gnarled trees.

   Panting, Apchè tucked to a halt and nestled her wings, then ducked into the shelter of the forest. Her mate trotted gaily behind her, shaking the water from his pelt. The patter of rain was dulled by the canopy above and magnified by the silence within the forest bowels. The unnerving absence of life made Apchè's skin twitch with discomfort, and she stuck close to Lyrèan’s dampened side. Her mate was dark, but in the gloom of the forest he was nigh on invisible. The deep cobalt blue of his coat blended well with the purple of the forest shadows.

   Blowing a warm, comforting breath over his expecting mate’s cheek, Lyrèan lead her to the small thicket in which they had waited out many a summer storm. “Sooth,” he bade her in scarcely a whisper. “Rest, my love, for you need it more than I. I shall stand watch until the storm has passed.”

   Apchè nickered softly and settled upon gathered legs at his hooves. She nestled her wings about her pregnant belly and cooed a tender lullaby to her unborn foal. Above, Lyrèan spread a wing to shelter her from what little water could permeate the ragged canopy.

   The storm passed, as all storms did, and once again the summer sun gazed lazily upon the plain. It was late evening now, the time when flies laid to rest and fireflies journeyed into the sky to light the way of lost souls to the pasture above.

   Lyrèan bent to nose Apchè’s neck, rousing her to the dawn after the storm. “Awake, beloved,” he murmured, and the mare rose stiffly to her feet. He eyed her swollen girth. “You are due soon.”

   “Aye, very soon,” his mate confirmed softly. “By the rise of the next moon.” She caught the blue stallion’s unease reflected in his eyes of deep chestnut. “Fear not. All will go well. Now hie! My stomach hungers.”

   Lyrèan lead the way upon the plain, trotting leisurely into the soaking world. The ground squelched beneath his cloven hooves; dying breezes gusted through his mane and tail. He ruffled his crest of neck feathers and flared his wings, longing to take to the skies. But not with Apchè due at any heart beat. Not until she and the young she was soon bound to bare could join him in Amun’khar’æ’rhett’s gift of flight.

   They fell hungrily upon the tender shoots of new grass exposed by the torrent of the tempest’s rain. All around, birds of every size and colour flocked and landed to feast on tidbits of churned-up seeds, bugs, and shoots. A quarter of an hour later, Lyrèan was hailed by another voice as familiar as his mate’s.

   “Stheno!” he whistled. His herd mate bounded down a hillock to join them, fluting a polite greeting to Apchè. Stheno was a young stallion, not even four winters, whereas Lyrèan held six years seniority over him. Stheno’s kin, Sivorn and his twin sister Cyrene, were of Apchè’s age, who was a year Lyrèan’s younger. Looking up, Lyrèan’s eye caught the flash of Cyrene’s golden pinions high above. She was a lone figure; her brother Sivorn no longer flew the skies of this realm.

   “Gladly met, Lyrèan!” Stheno whickered, champing his friend on the shoulder. “How did you fare this storm?”

   “Fair, fair,” Lyrèan laughed. “We held in the forest until it passed. Yourself?” He whisked a firefly from his rump with a full, sleek tail of glossy ebony.

   “The same.” Stheno nodded out towards the endless plain’s beginning. He seemed to be bursting with an untold tale of grand proportions. “Queen Equinox arrived just before the storm,” he blurted in a rush of excitement. Both Lyrèan and Apchè shied in surprise. Lyrèan pricked black tipped ears towards Stheno in wonder. “Aye, you heard right,” the younger stallion said. “She and her heard are not but a mile south of where we stand. Ziopinni is treating with them now.” He glanced questioningly to Apchè and her pregnant state, then to Lyrèan.

   The cobalt stallion answered, “A mile is not too far for a mare such as mine.” An answering whuff approved his statement. He was proud, for only Apchè could progress this far into pregnancy and still take to the sky with ease. Stheno half-reared with delight.

   “Come, then!” he bade joyfully, and in a bound had lifted himself from the ground and broken the law of gravity to soar to no more than a speck at the edge of their vision above. Chuckling at the colt’s restless energy, Lyrèan flared his wings and caressed the air, watched his mate do the same. The wind was unpredictable, making for a challenging rise, but the experience of many a year air born cued the stallion when to take flight, and soon he joined Stheno with Apchè by his side.

   Queen Equinox’s band was surprisingly hard to spot, even from only a few hundred feet above ground. Lyrèan’s heart clenched as he laid eyes to the small congregation of his kind far below. Only half, he knew, were the Queen’s people.

   The Queen herself was not hard to spot. Her dazzling white coat shone like a beacon in the dying evening light. Little bits of sun rays glinted off her golden feathers, horn, and hooves. Apchè dipped into a shallow dive and Lyrèan followed her to alight smoothly on the grass. Stheno dipped and dove like a sporadic falcon before crashing to earth amidst scattered applauding knickers of laughter from the gather’s younger persons.

   As he drew near enough to count, Lyrèan’s euphoria of flight sank into the region of his hocks and knees. There was less than twenty of the Queen’s mountain dwelling kith and kin. Four years ago, before the Wars, her herd had numbered in the hundreds. Now, he knew, this meager band was all that was left.

   “Greeted, Queen Equinox of the Windmaker’s sacred Valley!” Ziopinni welcomed. He was also a young stallion, though older than Stheno. He had been promoted to prince of the Plains herd upon his father Zanbuck’s death.

   “We are honored, Prince of the Plains, to be welcomed once more in the land of our brethren.” The Queen’s voice was smooth and bold, so very unlike the passive mares of the Plain. Behind her stood her mate and several adults and few younglings – all which remained of her herd.

   Again Lyrèan recalled the events that had lead to such decimation. Those events were four years past, but remained in the present by vivid memory of those who were there…those who fought, those who died, those who remembered, and those who would never forget…