After the day of exploration he’d had by both air and land, Leander rested, hind leg propped and wings easy at his sides. Moonlight glimmered through trees whose branches had begun to unfurl with the greenery of spring, though everything looked a dull grey in the dimness. It was a strange experience to finally be in Beqanna and find it nothing like he’d expected – strange, but not unpleasant, nomad that he was.
He had just closed his eyes for sleep to take him when a splash nearby alerted him to the fact that he was no longer alone. Dispelling any wayward fatigue with a stirring of feathers, Leander moved from his place between two large redwoods and looked across the waters. Initially he was startled to see a leopard crouched upon the opposite bank, though his attention was diverted by the mare who came into view as she waded the currents.
He was about to call out a warning as she heedlessly approached the predator, his wings half-raised in preparation to intervene. But then the mare threw her head and sent up a spray toward the cat, and though the animal hissed, the antlered woman merely laughed – and a stray moonbeam revealed telltale markings spun upon red and white skin. The stallion resettled his wings, the understanding between the two strangers made clear; still, those markings had struck him with curiosity.
After all, they seemed an almost perfect manifestation of how he’d imagined his grandmother’s to be.
Once the mare withdrew from the river’s soft embrace, Leander decided to approach. “I hope I’m not interrupting,” he started with a surreptitious glance toward the leopard, “Or at least if I am, I hope your friend here doesn’t eat me.” A crooked grin formed about his mouth. “In any case, my name’s Leander.” Closer now, he noticed the scarring and wondered at its making, though something deeper within her countenance was pleasant – a face he found remarkably familiar.
