Seraphina Nightwing's Arc

Chapter 3 of 6

With the herd of three feeding at last, Seraphina left the stable at dawn to ride the road home from the grove. She needed more than horses now. She needed hands she could trust. She found them at a roadside camp of rough log cabins tucked among the trees. Fifty men sat by the fires, dismissed from the royal guard for refusing unjust orders. Seraphina spoke plainly of the true heir and of what was right. By dusk, all fifty had pledged their swords to her cause. They marched together toward her hold. Halfway home, the lead scout raised a fist. In the meadow ahead grazed a wild herd of Pegasus, maybe twenty strong. At their center stood a blue roan dapple stallion, lightning patterns crackling across his coat like living storms. Seraphina moved alone through the grass with a soft rope coiled in her hand. The leader watched her, ears forward, wings half-spread. She did not rush. She breathed, and waited, and slipped the rope around his neck. He did not fight. The rest of the herd folded in behind him, quiet as shadows. That night, the herd settled on the slope below her white stable, and a faint blue streak shimmered up from the stones where the leader first lowered his head. Seraphina watched it glow. Her herd had grown. Her guard had grown. But somewhere, she knew, Lord Casven would soon hear of it.