Welcome to Gaia! ::

It was odd flying on his own again, reminiscent of his days as a bachelor stallion patrolling his territory, but Crousader found that he enjoyed it. His wingstrokes were measured and calm, taken only when needed, and for the most part he just soared along with the currents. Eventually, however, he became thirsty. The weight of his old armor had long since become a part of who he was, but the sweat the metal pieces engineered still meant he required hydration frequently. Aware of this, but not quite desperate yet, he tipped his wings and angled himself lower, scanning the landscape for the telltale signs of water.

At length, he found one. It was a stream, but it would do. A short stop, nothing more, and he would continue on his trek to the East. Banking suddenly, he dropped into an elegant dive and alighted with all of the fire and grace he hoped he still possessed. There was no one around to see (as far as he could tell) but he had long believed that to excel when it mattered most meant excellence in even the day to day regiment.

Just as his hooves touched down, however, he finally did catch sight of another presence further down the hill. Snorting, Crousader warily eyed the stranger from beneath his shining helm, waiting for the other to either move further away or approach. He was perversely irritated that he hadn't spotted the stranger from the air, and mentally vowed to correct this in the future. Getting old did not equal getting soft or senile in Crousader's world.