The young girl has been running all over the court all morning, trying to find Commander Marisol. She looks in the castle first, skirting down hallways and sliding around corners, Indy following on silent wings just behind her. Until a very stern faced man tells her that “The Queen is not in and you must go.”

What a killjoy.

Charlie sincerely hopes that he doesn’t have kids, and is very sorry for them if he does.

So, out on the steps with the entire court before her, the 6-month old pauses—vermillion eyes serious. Indy perches upon her withers, carefully curling her talons about the willowy girl’s shoulder blades. “Well, that was a bust,” she grumbles, blowing a bit of her forelock out of the way of her face. “Where do you think we should check next, Indy?”

Her bonded is quiet for a moment, then, “It would take all day to search everywhere. And I love you but I’m not a one bird search party. Where did you usually find her, you know, before she became Queen?” Charlie scrunches up her nose and thinks. She has always admired Commander Marisol, but until more recently never talked to her. Just watched how awesome she was.

And that’s when she figures out where to look, and what a stupidly easy place it is. The training grounds! It’s always where Charlie would have seen her, whether she was training herself or practicing with the cadets. The filly has spent way more time at the barracks and the training grounds than she probably is supposed to, but when you’re like her and have free run of the world there’s nothing you don’t do.

She races down the steps, Indy leaving her perch on her shoulders with a few beats of her wings and taking off into the air. The Osprey’s shadow falls over Charlie’s, mimicing the girl’s own wings as if they were splayed open at her sides. Together the pair speed through the streets. Both know the way there by heart.

They would know it in the dark, or blindfolded. The way to the training grounds is in their blood.

It doesn’t take them long to arrive, but Charlie is an endless reserve of energy, already brushing past the barracks and straight for the open fields used for sparring and other things. Slowing, she spies Commander Marisol in the distance throwing her spear. Awed, she stops to watch. The Commander doesn’t miss.

It’s awesome.

One day Charlie wants to be as good with a weapon as her.

When the Commander stops and seems to come to a rest on the ground, Charlie remembers her excitement and begins to bound forward again. Her small hooves beat a stacatto against the hard ground, and Indy circles a few times above before landing on the remains of the dummy. Her vermillion eyes are sharp and bright with enthusiasm.

“I came to find you, Commander Marisol!” Charlie says, hopping a backwards a little bit as the older pegasus sits up. She stands straighter, puffs out her chest and dons a most serious expression. For as long as she can hold it, anyway, before the energy bubbles over again. “I needed to show you something! Look!”

The filly turns toward an open stretch of ground and stretches out her wings. The sun is high and dazzling and she can feel the wind brushing against each of her feathers. Charlie narrows her eyes, and begins to run.

And then, she begins to flap her wings. Great, fast strokes of her wings. One, two, three, and then her hooves are no longer touching the ground. She doesn’t get very high, perhaps, and although the young pegasus hasn’t testing exactly how far she can go, the fact that she can actually fly is enough to make her excited for weeks to come. She’s been dying to fly since the day she first put her hooves on the ground, and practicing almost every day since.

Charlie turns in the sky, a little wobbly, and heads back toward the Commander. And although she skids and stumbles some on the landing, she’s already rushing back toward Marisol with a beaming smile on her face. “I did it! I had to show you first.”

When the Commander wraps Charlie in her feathered embrace, pulling the young girl against her side, a strange sort of warmth fills her. One that cannot be attributed to the beating of the sun down upon her skin.

Charlie has spent much of her life off adventuring, by herself, apart from Indy who is more of a sister to the filly than just a bonded. The affection isn’t unwelcome but unfamiliar, and Charlie finds herself leaning a little bit into the embrace and the warmth of Marisol. The mare’s praise makes her heart soar, much higher than she can ever hope to fly.

A happy laugh escapes her, her bright eyes closed as she soaks in the experience and, she finds, enjoys it. “I’ve been practicing every day, and then one da I just started to fly,” Charlie says, and it’s clear to see that she’s quite proud of her accomplishment. Oh, she cannot wait for the day she can fly higher and farther and do all kinds of things. She will fly everywhere… who needs to travel on the ground when you can do it in the air?

It takes the filly a second to register the Commander’s suggestions, coming down off her high, as it were. But as Marisol pulls away and the words seem to settle within Charlie’s thoughts her eyes widen exponentially, like she’s just stepped into the world’s largest candy store.

Only her treat of choice is personal training by the Commander of the Halcyon. “You would do that?” the filly responds, a little in disbelief, as she watches Marisol prance away. She can well and truly, hardly believe it. It’s like a dream come true. The Halcyon are real life heroes, just like in all the best stories, and Commander Marisol is the best of them.

The shock wears off quickly, and Charlie seems to make up her mind immediately. Her eyes catch in the sun like a flame, sparking bright and determinedly as she races forward to catch up with the mare. “Yes, yes! I want to learn everything!” She bounds across the training grounds, gaze never leaving Marisol’s face. “I want to be just like you.”

It’s hard for Charlie to place the expression that overtakes Marisol’s face for a quiet moment after she talks. Ah, the frown is certainly something she is familiar with, but usually it is matched with eyes filled with some sort of disgruntled expression. Usually because she’s gotten herself in the way down at the docks, or into some sort of other mess that the adults don’t find quite as charming and exciting as she does.

But the look in the Commander’s eyes is different. Almost sad.

Charlie takes a quick step forward, bumping her nose gently against the older mare’s shoulder, “Okay Commander Marisol, I will,” and she glances up with bright, sincere eyes as she continues, “But you’ll always be my number one.” The filly’s faith is so simple and innocent, her trust as boundless as her energy.

She has grown a wild girl, without the kinds of boundaries or rules that most foals might have to ensure that their hooves stay firmly planted to the ground. But she has never lacked enthusiasm or determination, nor a sense of duty or loyalty. Perhaps, roaming Novus at such a young age has made these things even more deeply rooted in her, because who is a lone girl in a big world if she doesn’t know who she is, except wandering and lost?

When Marisol flashes a smile in her direction and sweeps her wing in the direction of the barracks, Charlie turns her attention toward it. A practice weapon? Her eyes sparkle like the sun at the thought, as she pictures the weapon of her (literal) dreams. Charlie pictures herself at the helm of a ship, standing proud with the sea air blowing across her skin.

Strapped behind her shoulder, with a wooden grip and brass bolsters, smooth steel blade shining in the sun. There is no doubt in her mind, nor in her voice as she turns back to the Commander and speaks, “A sword.” Her eyes are fiercely resolute, a smile curling the corners of her lips. There is nothing in the world a budding fighter, dreaming pirate, could want more.

Marisol urges Charlie in the direction of the weapons room and the young girl needs no further convincing. She walks along eagerly, almost skipping in her excitement, almost floating. Her heart feels like it’s soaring, even though her hooves are on the ground. She thinks, there is no possible day that could ever top this one. Nothing could be better than this (except, perhaps, to become a Halcyon herself, someday).

When the Commander pushes the door to the room open, the pegasus filly moves inside at the ushering of the woman beside her. But she can’t help when she pauses in the middle of the room, a sharp intake of breath filling her lungs. If these are only the training weapons, she can’t imagine what their actual weapons room must look like. There are so many to choose from!

Charlie moves toward the wall with buckets and racks holding all types and sizes of training swords. Some are made of wood, and some appear to be made of plastic or some other hard but forgiving material. Suddenly a little unsure and a little overwhelmed, the girl glances back at the Commander, who is waiting by the partially open door.

Sunlight filters in through it, lighting up particles of dust floating through the air. The look in Marisol’s eyes encourages her to keep going, so she does. Her vermilion eyes take in each sword, until they land on one that just… feels right.

It’s black, and probably made of plastic instead of wood. Charlie carefully lifts it from the hooks on the wall, to test its weight and balance in her hand. There’s not much detail to it, but she can tell it was modeled after something real. It has a textured grip and a shallow fuller. Even though it’s not the weapon she’s always imagined, it will help her learn how to wield that one, one day.

Charlie turns toward Marisol with a smile and a delighted look in her eyes. “This one,” she says simply. The filly knows very little, but this she knows without fail. With a different kind of eagerness, she is ready to begin. And, new practice weapon in hand, Charlie makes her way back toward the Commander and the fields beyond the cracked door, waiting in the sunlight.