Amidst the fury of the tropical storm that raged over Laipawa, Argemmon stood at the entrance of a narrow cave, high on the slopes overlooking Hokana. Rain lashed against the rugged cliffs, and fierce winds howled through the dense foliage of the ancient trees. Even for an island accustomed to tempests, this storm was unusually fierce.

The storm had been brewing on the horizon all season, it seemed like; as if summoned by the whims of the sea and sky. Argemmon couldn't help but feel a sense of unease, as though the island itself were in turmoil. It was said that Laipawa's weather mirrored the emotions of its people, and on this day, the island was in turmoil indeed.

Argemmon had sought refuge in the cave, its mouth a sanctuary against the relentless assault of wind and water. He knew that the inhabitants of Laipawa would be seeking shelter in whatever havens they could find, hunkering down and riding out the storm. As their king, it was his responsibility to ensure their safety and well-being.

Leaning against the cave's rocky threshold, he gazed out at the tempest, his brown eyes reflecting the turmoil of the world beyond. The rainwater streamed down his dappled coat, matting his mane and tail to his body. Thunder rumbled overhead like the growl of a great beast.

As he pondered the storm's significance, a sudden, piercing cry cut through the tempest's cacophony. It was a sound unlike anything he had heard before, a wild, keening screech that seemed to carry both pain and desperation. It drew his gaze away from the churning sea and sky and into the roiling skies. Argemmon strained his eyes, trying to locate the source of the cry amid the rain-slicked trees and swaying branches.

And then, he saw her.

A large eagle, her pale feathers soaked and bedraggled, was struggling against the ferocious winds. She fought to maintain her course, but the storm threatened to cast her adrift. With each gust, she was pushed closer to the unforgiving earth.

A warrior until the end, he thought, and suddenly felt deeply connected to the unlucky bird, seeing in her struggle a reflection of his own.

With a crack! of lightning from the tempestuous skies and a gust of wind so strong he had to close his eyes against it, the bird was overcome. Careening head over tail in the storm, she was flung into the slick, stony ground before him like a child would cast down an unsatisfactory toy. Audible to him even through the howling winds, the sick, wet crunch of her body's impact turned his stomach.

Without hesitation, Argemmon ventured out into the storm, his sturdy hooves gripping the slick rocks as he made his way toward the bird. The rain soaked him to the skin, but he pressed on.

Please, he prayed, ears flat back against the wind and rain.

Let her live.

Mother Nature
[ store thread ]

Trying to reason with hurricane season . . .

Before Argemmon could reach her, the eagle awakened, her dark eyes opening slowly, fighting against her body's urge to succumb to unconsciousness once more. Her vision was blurred, and her body ached with pain. Raindrops pelted her, and she could feel the cold, hard ground beneath her. Confusion and fear gripped her as she tried to make sense of her surroundings.

With great effort, she managed to push herself somewhat upright, her wings feeling heavy and sore. The storm raged around her, and she could see little through the sheets of rain. She was disoriented and in pain, her usual grace and confidence replaced by gripping, vulnerable sort of terror.

As Argemmon approached, his massive equine form appearing like a shadow in the storm, the bird's survival instincts kicked in. She let out a screeching cry, a wild and primal sound, and awkwardly stumbled to her taloned feet.

Desperation lent her strength, and she fled from him on foot, moving awkwardly across the rain-soaked ground and into the shelter of the open cavern. Her escape was a clumsy, ungainly dance compared to her usual graceful flight, but fear and instinct drove her onward.

hazel

Argo followed the bird from a distance, sending thanks after thanks to the old gods for its resilience. As he entered the shelter, his eyes took a moment to adjust once more to the gloom of the cave before he sighted her, huddled in the shadows. Her feathers were thoroughly soaked, and bedraggled, and her once-keen eyes were dulled by exhaustion and injury. The storm had clearly taken its toll on the magnificent bird.

Argemmon approached cautiously, his heart filled with empathy for the injured bird. He could see that one of her wings hung at an awkward angle, clearly dislocated by the storm's violence. Her beady eyes, sharp and wary, fixed upon him as he drew near.

"Easy now, spirit-warrior," he murmured. 

The sea eagle screeched in response, a piercing sound that spoke of fear and pain. Argemmon could sense the bird's desperation and knew that he needed to act swiftly to help her.

With a gentleness that belied his immense strength, Argemmon carefully approached the injured bird, his noble profile lowering toward her useless wing. He extended his muzzle toward the injured appendage, his teeth working delicately yet decisively to grasp the fragile bones.

The sea eagle struggled and screeched as he began the painful process of setting her wing. Her talons lashed out, and her sharp beak snapped perilously close to Argemmon's dark eyes, tearing his flesh in what she perceived to be a fight for her life. Yet, the stallion persevered, his determination unwavering.

In the depths of the storm, amidst the thunderous crashes and blinding flashes of lightning, Argemmon and Cirra, as he would later come to call her for the soft shrieking sound that seemed to be her calling card, battled together against the odds. The sea eagle's cries of pain mingled with the fury of the tempest, creating a discordant symphony of suffering and survival.

Finally, with a carefully calculated motion, Argemmon managed to align the dislocated bones of Cirra's wing. He held it steady for a few agonizing moments, giving the damaged joint a chance to settle back into place. Cirra's struggles gradually subsided as the pain began to ebb away.

Argemmon withdrew his teeth gently, allowing the sea eagle to test her newly set wing. She cautiously unfurled it, flexing her talons and feathers. Though her movements were still awkward and filled with discomfort, she had regained the use of her wing.

The eagle screeched again, but this time it was different, a mixture of surprise and relief. She hopped a few steps away from Argemmon, testing her flight muscles. Her wing, though still battered, was back in its place, and the sharp, shooting pain of the injury had been replaced with a dull throb.

Cirra regarded him with a sharp curiosity. She hopped cautiously onto a nearby rock, testing her mended wing tentatively. Though the storm still raged outside, the cave provided a sanctuary from its fury.

The eagle continued to watch him, but its piercing screeches had ceased, replaced by a series of softer, almost questioning sounds. Argemmon sensed that the bird was trying to communicate with him in its own way, and he listened attentively, his intuition guiding him.

Within the confines of the cave, a strange connection began to form between the king of Laipawa and the injured eagle. It was as though they shared a silent pact forged by the elements themselves.

Argemmon extended his muzzle cautiously toward the eagle, offering her a gesture of friendship. To his surprise, the bird did not shy away. In that moment, he felt a profound connection to the island itself, as if Laipawa had sent this magnificent creature to him as a symbol of resilience in the face of adversity.

"You are a symbol of strength, my friend," Argemmon whispered to the eagle, his voice carrying the weight of the storm's message. "We will weather this tempest together, and when the skies clear, you will soar once more."