Portrait of a new step

Sword in sheath, armored and horseback, he is ready. Today is going to be an interesting day, to say the least. He is only just aware of the swarm of the men behind him.

It is time. The Child Of The Wind has taken up the sword and the land waits to be reclaimed. The skies look down to the earth promising rain; the clouds are in a frenzy. In every breath he can sense the earth and air and sky. He and his beast are one and as one stand, poised to fly, on a weave of air.

Three more minutes. Three more minutes to first light. Three more minutes to a new dawn. He closes his eyes and he can feel the land and the rocks and the sparse trees. He can feel the army behind, their intensity radiating out. He can feel them below, and he does not cringe this time at the thought of them. His eyes remain closed. He knows the first rays are appearing from the other hand. He unsheathes his sword; the beast lifts a leg expectantly and his men await with bated breath for the Child Of The Wind to complete his terpsichore. The sword rises, catching these first rays and scattering them across the realm as far as the eye can see, laying his claim to the soil of his gods.