You got your finger on the trigger, but your trigger finger's mine
Duty called, and Israfel was grumpy about it.
’You should at least pretend to be enjoying yourself,’ came Solaris’ voice from overhead where the glittering Phoenix lazily flew, ’Keep frowning like that and you might get a demotion.’ The Sun Daughter snorted. Asterion would hardly do such a thing. If she had a perpetual frown on her lips while on patrol then it would just add to the aesthetic, wouldn’t it?
Honestly she didn’t mind the patrols. Someone had to do it, since the Halcyon were too busy playing soldier in their training grounds. Patrols helped keep their borders secure, after all, but they tended to be on the more boring side of things. She was a creature of habit, an addict of action, and this was… Well. Mundane. Lackluster. Droning. Nothing about waltzing through the countryside got her pulse racing, her heart thumping, and her mortality quivering. There was nothing like a brush with death to make one feel just a little more alive, and after quite literally dying, Israfel found that she did miss the thrill.
“At least it’s not the swamp.” And thank fuck for that. Despite how much she liked Terrastella, she would never be fond of the stink of the bog and the feel of sucking, clinging peat moss to her hooves. Small blessings.
Aside from some friendly bickering back and forth between equine and Phoenix, the remainder of their patrol through the fields went without incident. All was as it should be. Despite the chill in the air, the weather was mild and comfortable, and it was only on their way back that Israfel spotted something that wasn’t too out of the norm yet was odd enough to give her pause. A dark body stood poised frozen, wings outstretched and feathers splayed as though prepared to take flight. It took Israfel a moment to realize who it was, vermilion eyes narrowing to make out their features better.
Samaira. She recalled the medic briefly, although they never truly shared in any one-on-one conversations, Israfel knew of the woman.
The Warden’s steps halted as she took a few curious moments to simply observe. Samaira and her own bonded lingered out in the field, and Israfel watched with a quirked brow as the rich mahogany wings once more stretched out as though to catch the gentle autumn breeze that drifted through the air. Something seemed odd about the whole thing, and it was only after a few moments of deliberating what it might be that she was missing that Israfel realized what it was like a slap in the face. Samaira’s wing, so typically seen wrapped in gauze and bandages, was unfurled and free of its restraint.
Interesting.
Altering her path, the Warden slowly began to approach. Gilded hooves guided her confidently upon the grassy earth, knowing that the sounds of crunching grass and shifting soil beneath her weight would give her away. Pausing a few strides behind Samaira and her bonded, the white heron who’s name she could not remember if she had ever learned it, the ivory and gold woman spoke.
“Your wing. Is it better?” Quick and to the point, because Israfel was learning that there was no point in wasting time beating around the bush. Overhead Solaris turned and spread her own ivory and gold wings out, gliding along the breeze to come to a roost upon Israfel’s croup. The Phoenix’s royal lavender eyes sought out Alaunus’ gaze and she nodded once in respect towards the heron.
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