Pegs was four years old and, as far as his foster mothers could tell, physically mature. He was beautiful, fast, and strong, and he didn’t need anyone. This is what was running through his head as he soared through the flame-colored sky. He had started flying early that morning, but now evening was falling and he had no desire to return to the mountain. Instead he decided he would find a nice lake to land in, spend the night there (he found water to be almost more comfortable to him than air), and fly back the next day.
Maybe.
He gave no thought to how his foster-mothers might react to his prolonged absence: the only thing that mattered to him was the anger burning in his heart, and the desire to fly and fly and fly until the rushing winds dampened it or the icy heights froze it. So far, neither had worked.
He folded his legs and wrapped his great wings tightly against his body, then let himself free-fall a few hundred meters, baring his teeth against the speed in a silent scream. His wings snapped out and his body jerked up, and he glided close to the tree-tops, scanning the neighboring plains for a suitable body of water. A brief glint on the horizon looked promising, but in an instant he changed his mind about landing there. Instead, he let himself drift to the ground, and gave in to the luxury of a run. He was never allowed to run on the mountain- but here there was no one to scold about any watery trail he might leave, and so he pushed himself as hard as he could, tearing across the earth towards the setting sun. Behind him, his hoof-print-springs made an eerie, bubbling wake before settling into a kind of exceptionally energetic rivulet.
By the time he reached the lake he was feeling a little better. Enough so that he stopped stomping quite so forcefully, and went back to his habitual hopping-flutter to keep from further tearing up the turf (his foster-mother Terpsie said it was more graceful than most people’s dancing). He slid into the water, grateful for it’s cool embrace, and began to duck his head in search of a few succulent plants to make his dinner.
He had just raised his head back up, mouth full of a particularly nice batch of weeds, when something landed around his neck. Pegs immediately surged up and out of the water into the air, and as he did so he felt his left wing glance off something heavy. He did not pause to look, but pumped with all his might until he was higher than the trees. Only then did he hover, shake whatever-it-was off his neck, and turn his gaze back towards the earth.
There by the edge of the lake was a young man- a very pale and sweating young man who was holding his arm at an awkward angle. Pegs narrowed his eyes, and descended ever-so-slightly. The young man seemed to be having a bit of difficulty. He was saying some words that Pegs knew for a fact were expressions of extreme displeasure, and kicking at what appeared to be- was it a snake? A rope! Pegs hissed in disdain, dropping even further. The stupid human had tried to use a rope on him?!
“Oh majestic steed!” the young man cried, gazing upward. His voice sounded tight with pain. Pegs was glad. “Won’t you let me mount the heavens astride you? Of course you are too glorious by far for any ordinary mortal, but surely I, the hero who slew the monstrous serpent that plagued Kenos, surely I would be a worthy rider of one such as yourself?”
A hero! Not just a mortal but a filthy monster-killing hero had tried to bridle him?! Pegs seriously considered voiding his bowels on the man’s head.
But then he had a better idea.
Arching his neck grandly (one couldn’t spend so much time around springs and not be aware of one’s best angles) Pegs began a slow, spiraling glide back to the ground. He noted with satisfaction that the hero’s eyes never left his wings. He landed close- but not too close- to the man, and fixed him with what he knew to be his most come-hither stare (Erie’s lessons had not been entirely lost on him). The man took a step forward and reached out a trembling hand. Pegs let him get within two meters, and then danced back ever-so-slightly, tossing his head like an ordinary, nervous horse might. The man made soft, soothing noises, and moved forward again.
Oh, this was going to be fun.
***
In the end he got the hero to chase him a good five twisting kilometers into the forest, until they were up to their knees in thorns. The barbs didn’t bother Pegs, of course (one of the perks of being a semi-divine half-breed) but they tore the man’s legs up pretty well, and caught on his tunic, causing him to wrench his bad arm (inevitably followed by muffled curses). Finally, when Pegs decided he had gotten enough entertainment for the evening (and anyway his stomach was beginning to growl) he stopped inching away and fell very still, then took an apparently timid step towards the hero, blowing air in an inquiring manner.
The man stood a little straighter, his eyes feverish with excitement. Pegs let him come within a half-meter of him, let him reach out his hand to touch Peg’s shining white coat-
Then sprang straight up, giving a powerful down-stroke of the wings that grazed the man (and probably broke the other arm) and carried him high into the tree-tops.
For the first time in his life, Pegs wished he could laugh aloud. As it was he contented himself with emptying his bowels (although more from contempt than malice at this point) and began the long flight home.
He no longer felt quite so angry.
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