Yona in the Blush of Dawn

This mountain air, perturbed severely by cruel wind, chilled the roots of my jet-black hair, which extended barely onto my neck. Damn, it was cold. After a few months, this patrol route had become familiar, down to every boulder with a cryptic shape. Could you even call them rocks at that point?

In more playful moments, my wyvern (great beast with the head and arms of a dragon, but the body of a reptile) would hide behind them. But it was all too easy to find her, with glorious crimson wings that extended across the horizon. To foes, wyverns are fearsome – but Yona, the name of my beast, was an amusing creature outside of battle. The rules of training simply were not in play outside of battle. In a way, Yona was being considerate of my condition – letting me win because I can only march a short distance. Then I must rest for half a mark or longer. And this terrain was especially arduous. Hills within hills plagued every step.

It was especially clear that the generals never even considered my difficulty with mobility. Why else would they put me on a mountain? They only think of my military prowess – but never to think of how they can best support their soldiers. Those bastards.

But Yona and I had a special agreement  -- for all lengths, except those walkable by me, she let me ride on her back. Even when her feet were still on the ground. When she moved by stomping. A special harness allowed enough range of motion for me to lean in – but it restrained my weak legs, preventing me from falling off. Often Yona glanced back at me – to make sure that I was still on.

In our occasional bouts of aerial training, we set down a pattern to prevent me from falling. This was also part of the tacit agreement. No sudden movements without flapping one wing as a caution. Limited turning, and a preference for straight flying. Part of our strategy was sudden changes in elevation. This helped me avoid the leg cramps that came from excessive swerving. (Getting slammed from side to side certainly was not best for my condition.) But that did not mean wyvern riding was easy for me, regardless of how proficiently I could do it.

Surprisingly, my best friend from camp – a healer who had spent the last two years of her life trying to help me on the side – had found a potion that kept the painful contractions at bay.It was no cure-all. I still had to stretch. After every battle, I had to extend my legs, place my hands on one, and fold my neck and spine downwards – and repeat for the other side. Then, sitting upwards, I would tap my foot in a steady in rhythm to train the muscles of the forward leg. Still I let out a sigh. Being sent to a mountain patrol alone just seemed too cruel, no matter how I looked at it.

Back at camp I had that momentary sense of community. This was tough.

But Shizuru’s words linger in my mind: “Didn’t spend 11 months for you to just feel sorry for yourself! War is…well…a great evil still. But we do the best we can with the resources available to us. I’ll see you when you’re  back.”

When you’re stuck on a mountain…..your thoughts drift a little bit. The low air pressure called for limited energy consumption – but the worst part was the cold.

Shizuru, a young woman of twenty, had vividly blonde hair that fell to her mid back and gentle red eyes, but a head shorter than me. Still, with her upright posture, there was a noble air about her. She was physically frail herself – part of why healing had appealed to her in the first place. But these talents of hers were unparalleled, even when stacked against the ancient men who practiced it. This…unfortunately led to accusations of witchcraft that drew the whole camp against her. Though they went to her for help, they viewed her as fundamentally non-human. As someone also suspected of witchcraft, I became friends with her. We ate that lousy rice gruel together, even if the commanding officers clearly stiffed the soldiers of meat and spices.

Even in this era, physical ailments are seen as demonic. In Shizuru’s case, a scar ran down her cheek, cementing this opinion in their eyes – yet this scar was a symbol of why she had ended up as a healer in the first place. In a way, Shizuru was a refugee, having lost her village to enemy forces. Perhaps that was a simple fact of war. But we saw the vileness of our own forces, as they ostracized us and made unkind remarks just beyond our hearing. How would they even know our conditions, one might ask. It was clear in how both of us stood for short periods of time, often sitting, even as the others stood tall, chatting. In how neither of us could handle the menial labor the others could. They even saw us as getting special treatment.

Some special treatment being stuck on a frigid stone castle. In a way, Yona and Shizuru gave me the courage and motivation to fight – to find that better life for all of us. As I say it, though, Shizuru would be the one to heal this forsaken land of Padania, where we lived and suffered. But if we have that sort of hope, this land could hardly be called forsaken. As a pawn, I could not help but admire the rook that Shizuru was – and despise the king, queen, and knight at the top. The unrelenting chess metaphors in my head had caused my gaze to fix upon misshapen gravel at my feet. Slightly annoyed, Yona nudged me with her nozzle.

Yona’s expression let me know what time it was. The reddish glow of the dawn was before me – and damn I had woken up early. But I knew what action to take – we took off from the mountain, circling around it. The hope we felt, even hidden by cynicism, lifted us up.