Early spring, Year 761
Windborne, southern coast
Sparrow stood at the top of a rise, gazing out over the ocean. He had not journeyed to the coast in several years, but it was as stunning as he remembered. His venture had a purpose though: the grullo stag was here to study. With the dramatic changes happening back within the newly-formed Allied herd, his presence was certainly needed. However, if he was going to help his herd mates in future battles, he needed a chance to further hone his skill. Besides, since there was not yet a proper leader for Windborne, the aspiring stormbringer was not bound within the confines of the group under anyone’s orders.
Naturally, the drake was not one to involve himself with the internal conflicts of the herds. However, this most recent event had affected the entirety of Windborne’s infrastructure! Everything was different now. The territory of the new herd was vast—far larger than it had been for any one herd in the past. However, the boundaries of such a land were not set in stone. Since there were no monarchs, the rules of the herd were unclear. There were rumors of furthering the notion of equity among the members, but that was all the stag had heard. But Sparrow’s sole concern did not lie within the political framework, though he did look forward to seeing what would become of it.
He had witnessed all manner of new talent emerge in the new alliance, and it was both overwhelming and inspiring. He longed greatly to have the upper hand in battle—if only in relation to magic—so he had decided to go build his knowledge away from wandering eyes, before demonstrating his skills to the others. In general, acts of glory were not his strong point. Boasting was not his fashion (unless, of course, it was to impress the young faes), especially if he had nothing to boast. Instead, he remained lurking in the shadows until opportunity presented itself. If he built up his artistry enough, he would be able to catch the others off-guard, for which he delighted in the thought. Perhaps they truly would need his strength in the future . . . but that was for the gods to decide.
Sparrow drank the dry currents of dawn, as they sailed past his nose and lips. It was refreshing not to pick up on the slightest hint of fawnling. He was determined to maintain his ability to roam freely throughout these wondrous lands without having to worry about strife between the Allies and Loyalists. Of course, he wondered whether making this journey was a good idea in the first place—perhaps he should have stuck close to his herd mates for the time being, in order to begin adjusting to this new life. But that was simply not Sparrow’s way. He wasn’t the most patient brute, and so he grew bored of the herd. Escaping to the mountains or coast to recenter himself and to think deeply was his method of coping with his impetuosity, without getting snappy.
Now, as the sun was just peaking above the horizon, the tawny buck held his breath. It was coming! Sparrow could already sense the adjustments in the zephyr. The night winds—in which the cool air rushed towards the coast after the warm expanded and air rose up from the sea—were soon to be flip-flopped, as the land warmed with the coming daylight.
This was the creature’s second day of observation. He intended to stay a few more mornings, in case there was a dramatic change in the weather that he could observe first-hand. The coast was the perfect place to study turbulence patterns. It was a constant variable: an area uninterrupted by landscape formations or odd weather “black holes”, as he liked to call them (such as rain shadows and the like). Sparrow had enjoyed his time here, and it had been quite the learning experience.
The stag angled his head to the sky, as the golden globe’s gentle rays graced the sky with their presence. The softness of the spring weather held a moderate amount of humidity, and when combined with a slightly-cool polar temperature the result was a partly-cloudy sky. However, with southern temperatures rising, a fair bit of wind had picked up, and was rushing towards the north. It was, in all honesty, a perfect day for practicing air magic.
Sparrow sighed, satisfied with the way the day was turning out, then closed his eyes to focus on his own contribution to the atmospheric conditions. Based on what he had perceived, cooling the air around him that derived from the south would cause the wind speed to decrease. Of course, that was hardly useful for rehearsing for a fight; however, it was certainly valuable to maintain control. So . . . the sooty beast focused on that first. Sure enough, the tresses of his mane soon relaxed, and laid gently against his neck.
Silence set in, as the breeze grew still around him. Sparrow huffed. He wasn’t fond of this eerie quiet, whatever the benefit his practice entailed. So, directing his attention to the elements once again, he began to exhale, breathing energy into the calmed currents, which in-turn generated heat. It couldn’t be just any heat though—it would have to be concentrated from the south again. It wasn’t long before the warm air began to rise once again, and quickly the cold winds rushed in, buffeting the stag’s mane and tail.
Sparrow grinned, pleased with the success of the exercise. The knowledge his mentor, Enoch, had provided in fawnhood was valuable, but it was not nearly as deep an understanding as this. Yes, this sort of knowledge went beyond the magic. It delved into a field that was seldom touched on by his kind: science.
While Windborne was involving itself in heated politics, Sparrow had no interest in pursuits of hierarchical power—of course, that isn’t to say he wouldn’t enjoy being a pain in the ass to anyone who dared call themself his ruler, but even that wasn’t truly what satiated the cervid. What he devoted his heart to was the experience of life itself, and the wisdom derived from such.