' Hardly has the universe stretched its wings to span '
Veer is the darkest thing in the desert when he joins the group. He is ink and soot, darker than a moon-less night sky, darker than the shadow stretching out in the snow below him. Even his eyes seem darker, like cooper not yet molded and shined into something perfect. He is nothing more than a carrion bird circling over head, round and round and round.
He is the Black Falcon.
The night before is still carried on his skin. Streaks of ruby (like precious stone through ore) run across his neck and his hooves are dark with blood and clay that haven't yet been cleaned by the snow. He should be tried, his wings should be heavy from a night of killing and blood and revelry. Yet he only looks eager when he smiles down at the horses below (and the god) and laughs for all the bright fire of them that dances across the blackness of him.
Today he is all the glory of war, the master of blood-lust and pain. Everything about him promises the end of whatever beast they are looking for. And if there is a tingle of worry dancing in the back of his mind (not his, never his) he drowns it out with eagerness.
Worry not, Najjad. Veer says to that tickle of caution blossoming through the wildness of him. There is no beast that could catch me, let alone kill me.
I am still faster. I could catch you. Najjad whispers back and Veer can feel phantom rivers of blood running down his throat. The gryphon is feeding and Veer thinks almost longingly of a meal he never had time to eat.
But you are not here. So eat and sleep and I will return with bones for you to pick clean There is no more worry after that, only satisfaction and that ever-present want and hunger. Najjad, in true lion form, has contented himself with slumbering away his meal while others slaughter.
Veer refocuses on the group then as he circles them and thinks that perhaps each beat of his mighty wings makes them all look to be standing still like rabbits in the snow (waiting for the falcons and eagles to spot them). Even the god seems almost less god-like when there is miles more of snow for every inch that his heat melts.
And for the moment that suits Veer just fine.
