Beautiful Killer choked and almost fell over in shock, but instead raised trembling hands to stroke its snowy neck. For some inexplicable reason he found himself crying, and he buried his face in the creature’s mane, inhaling its scent- an odd mixture of feathers, sunshine, some sharp, exotic herb, and- mysteriously enough- ocean spray. The winged horse blew softly against his ear, sounding for all the world like a sea-side lullaby, and for the first time in as long as he could remember, the young man felt at peace.
“His name is Pegs,” said a low, feminine voice behind him. Beautiful Killer froze, hands and face still hidden in the creature’s mane. “He would tell you himself, but he’s mute- which of course you’ve already discerned. Don’t be afraid, Chrys. None of us will harm you.”
Beautiful Killer turned slowly, and it comforted him to feel the creature- to feel Pegs, he corrected- moving to press its weight against his back. Standing there was an achingly lovely woman- he assumed she must be a muse- with dark hair and a wise smile.
“How- how do you know my real name?” he asked, surreptitiously tugging down on the hem of his tunic from where it had hiked indecently up his thigh.
“I am Nemie, one of Pegs’s foster mothers. We are in the business of knowing things.”
“And you can leave off that fidgeting!” cried another voice, its owner invisible. “We promise not to molest any portion of your pretty golden flesh!” This was followed up by a flurry of many feminine giggles, and Chrys almost thought he heard one sultry voice mutter, “I don’t promise anything…” but it may have been the wind.
“Sisters- that is enough,” Nemie said, and the giggling silenced. Chrys, trying to ignore his burning face, stood up and faced her with as much dignity as he could muster.
“Pegs, you say?” he asked, and turned toward the winged horse. It- no, he- tossed his head in agreement. “Pegs, then. Very nice to meet you. Your foster-mother is right: my true name is Chrys, but no one has called me that in years.” Pegs nodded his head again. “And- am I understanding this right? Are you willing to let me ride you, to face Kymera?” Pegs hesitated this time, but finally nodded again.
“First you must master being the passenger of a winged horse, before you can even begin to think of facing anyone down,” Nemie said. Chrys turned back to her.
“Can you help me?” She laughed at this, a full, rich sound that made him somehow less nervous- not his typical response to a woman’s mirth.
“My stars, child, no! As far as we know, no one has ever ridden Pegs, and he is the first and only of his kind. If he allows you upon his back, you must learn from him or no one. We will allow you to stay here for the time being, and we will provision you when you go, but the teaching must be from Pegs alone.”
“I guess… I’ll need that bridle after all,” he said, looking around for it.
“I think not,” her voice was light, but Chrys thought he detected an underlying note of tension. “Bridles are for dumb beasts who cannot understand what you ask of them. Pegs is not a dumb beast, and has no need of a harness of any kind.”
Chrys felt his face flush again. “Of course you’re right. I’m sorry, Pegs, I wasn’t thinking.” Pegs lipped softly at his shoulder, and he knew he was forgiven.
“Now,” said Nemie, “Let us have a meal before things progress any further, shall we? It’s been an emotional day for everyone, and my sisters are dying to meet you.”
“Er,” said Chrys, not entirely certain he’d even be able to eat with so many semi-divine women inspecting him. Pegs leaned against his arm and caught his eye with an expression of amusement, but gave no indication of arguing with his foster mother. No help to be had there. “Alright,” he sighed, and resigned himself to a miserable afternoon of feminine companionship.
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