[SRP] How I Want to Be (Wyeth)

[Cajmera]

With gentle care, Wyeth ran the tip of one wing feather up and around on his shoulder, tracing the lines of the scar pattern that ran around from shoulder to shoulder. Enough time had passed that the action no longer hurt, but the raised red marks were still an ugly blemish on his otherwise pristine coat. It was interesting to contemplate, really; he'd spent his entire life training in the Summit's arenas for the life of a border guard, the life he now lived with pride. But in all those years, he'd never once obtained a real scar, one with any size or permanency. Yet somehow, it seemed appropriate; he had never had a real fight before, either; not one where the stakes were properly life and death.

He had been so terrified initially, Wyeth reflected with a shake of his head. He had closed up with fear at the realization of the enormity of the Kalona invasion, been terrified at the prospect of what might happen to his family, his herd, himself. He had panicked, and the realization he had panicked had been his most shameful moment. Even a conversation with his father had failed to eradicate the shame, though it had given him greater purpose and determination to face the menace. And face it he had.

The Summit had been lucky, protected by its high mountain ranges and deep caves. The herd had closed down the borders after taking in as many refugees as they could, then put the non-combatants into the safety of the caves. Some of the herd's fighters had been below, assisting with repelling the Kalona scourge; others had remained behind, to protect the herdlands.

Strictly speaking, Wyeth had been in the latter group. However, with permission he had gone beyond the borders on a very important errand; looking to see if he could locate his brother Raines, who had, at last notice, been somewhere out in the Lowlands. Raines was no fighter; he could certainly manage himself in a rumble, but he was not a warrior. And it twisted Wyeth's gut to think of Raines out there, alone, in the face of the Kalona herd.

He hadn't found Raines, but Wyeth had found a test he'd never hoped to experience. A cousin of his, a mare, even, had apparently allowed her curiosity to overwhelm her good sense and ventured beyond the safety of the herdlands. It had been extraordinarily lucky for her that he had been in the area; otherwise, she would have had no chance when the Kalona scout detected her. She was footbound, with no wings, nor any horn; just a young, regular, inexperienced mare against a hardended Kalona scout. It would have been a bloodbath.

But Wyeth had been there, in the right place at the right time. The scout had been focused on the mare, and Wyeth had had the element of surprise when he ripped into the Kalona. He had needed that surprise, because the Kalona was larger than him as well as combat experienced. But Wyeth himself was combat trained by the best of the best; he might not have had experience, but his training came through where it counted. He and the mare survived; the Kalona did not.

And from the encounter, he had picked up a fascinating set of scars!  

[Cajmera]

Wyeth had never considered himself vain; indeed, he had never had any reason to think his looks were anything extraordinary. Among his family, he was par for the course; a strong, sturdy stallion with a coat in the red/orange color family; in his case, those attributes were enhanced by his sparkling wings and the horn he'd inherited from his mother. Call it good genes; but the facts of the matter was that any member of the family would be considered attractive. And up until now, Wyeth had just...been.

His thoughts continued to wander as he traced up and down the scar. There were so many Soquili in his family, he reflected with quiet pride. His grandparents, the heads of the family, had twelve children; many of those children had children of their own. Some had moved on beyond the Summit lands, but many of them were still there. Some of them, such as his father Ambroise and his grandfather Grencia, were active in defense of the herd lands and in the protection of the herd itself. They, like the other guards and scouts, bore scars that testified to that dedication. More powerful than any beautiful coloration, lush mane, or iridescent wings, those scars were a silent confirmation that they were stallions with skills.

Now, Wyeth was finally a member of that cadre, a stallion who had been injured and would always be marked with the proof of that fight. He had enough experience with healing and first aid to know when a wound would leave a scar; even if there was a pure blood unicorn as skilled as his mother tending to his wound in the first few minutes, it would have left some sort of line. As it was, Wyeth was reasonably confident it would always be there, a raised scar against his flesh-toned throat.

And he was ok with that. He had been so worried that when the time came, he wouldn't be able to do his duty; that his fear would win out over his dedication. He should have known better, he thought with a slight smile; there was no way he could have trained for so many years with his father and not had the proper instincts.

He chuckled, thinking as he did so that his instincts were probably the strongest of anyone's. He felt confident that, had he been attacked while asleep, he would have defended himself reflexively, perhaps not even having to wake up to do so. He trusted his body implicitly; it was his mind that he'd always worried about. It was hard to train the mind with the same focus as the body; there was only so far that talking out battle scenarios could take him.

Still, in the end his mind had prevailed right alongside his body. He had won the battle, Sanuye had been seen home safely. He hadn't seen any further action; the Kalona herd didn't make it anywhere near the Summit, and after some determined resistance on the part of the Lowland Soquili, the Kalona herd had eventually broken up. He had been on the scene at one of the last battles; too late to fight, but with plenty of time to help heal the wounded survivors. It had been one of his proudest moments, saving the life of a Kalona hybrid who had nearly died at the fangs of one of his Kalona relations. That had been a rough episode, and it had struck forcibly home to Wyeth how ne should never judge a Soquili by their physical characteristics.  

[Cajmera]

Wyeth had always considered himself to be an honest, open minded Soquili. He had never knowingly judged anyone; whether male or female, wind, unicorn, alicorn, regular, a Soquili was a Soquili and deserved to be treated fairly. He had even considered himself open to the Kalona race, prior to the invasion. The Kalona herd had tested that belief; the Kalona who had attacked the Kawani Lands had been stereotypical examples of the breed, the worst of the worst. They had typified every childhood nightmare about the breed: cruelty, cunning, viciousness; it still gave Wyeth nausea to consider just how brutal the initial night attack of the Kalona Herd had been. He couldn't think about that first attack without feeling sick; even now, months after the fact, the sheer savagery of the situation was too terrible to contemplate.

But just because the Kalona herd itself had been made up of monsters did not make Kalona themselves monsters. He had spent very little time on the front lines of the war, and had never participated in one of the mass battles that had eventually turned the tide of events. But he had overflown a few, and he had provided medical care on more than one occasion. Consequently, he had had a great opportunity to see how the Kawani Soquili had pulled together, including many Kalona and Kalona hybrids. At first he had thought it was just fighting within the ranks of the Kalona herd itself, but closer observation had shown him that there were Kalona Soquili actively fighting the Kalona herd, Kalona who were fighting tooth and nail alongside the Kawani Soquili, not against them.

Yes, it made things confusing from time to time, but Wyeth had felt a new burst of pride and confidence in being a Kawani Soquili, even one who technically did not ally with the Kawani people. Those Kalona were fighting their fellows, potentially their former friends, or even their family. And who knew how many of the Kawani Kalona had grappled with their decision, feeling torn between racial loyalty and territorial loyalty? He didn't have much interaction with Kalona as a rule, but he'd heard that they were a race that tended towards purity; breeding with other Kalonas as a rule, to keep their family lines strong. How many of those pure Kalona lines had been broken by the war, how many family bonds had been irreparably shattered by bloodshed?

Wyeth still considered himself to be open minded, but he had discovered a new sensation recently: sympathy. Sympathy for the Kalona, who could so easily be villainized as a race due to the actions of a minority. His last action in the Kalona war, the healing of that half-Kalona stallion, had been rewarding to Wyeth in a way he'd never anticipated. There had been two family members with the stallion, both of whom were excessively bloody themselves; it had taken a few glances for Wyeth to confirm that the stallion's lifemate and son sported the blood of others, not blood of their own. The mate, a pure Kalona mare, had looked beyond dangerous, but her concern for the stallion had been so intense it was practically tangible. This was a couple who were deeply, truly in love.