Shasta

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She’d lie in wait, per usual. A simple task, nothing more than an average day’s work for someone of her ability. She was swift, like a strong gust of wind, as she stepped up to a den’s covered doorway, rapping the frame with a practiced knock.

Shasta prided herself on her loyalty. The Earthshaker was steadfast to his truths, so why shouldn’t she be? Calliope trusted her to handle nearly everything, she was valued with the Macabre, much more than she’d been with the Wind flight.

On death’s door, she’d been found. Weak from hunger and battle worn, she’d been picked up by a friendly face with warm cognac toned eyes. When she was taken in, some of her first true memories, the start of her real life, had begun with those eyes, crinkling around the edges as Calliope smiled, the lids closed gently as her head was thrown back in a shared laugh- Shasta liked to think that she knew Calliope, due to how much expression was shown in those irises.
So, as she knew her, when Calliope asked Shasta to be her Huntress, why wouldn’t she accept? Calliope would never steer anyone wrong, especially Shasta. She knew that.

Being a Huntress was important work. Shasta carried out her duty without question, for why should she question the Earthshaker’s will? Besides, it would be an honor to be sent to serve him. She delivered the joyous news to the dragons who would meet the Earthshaker, though… often they did not seem so ecstatic as she thought they should be. Sometimes, they ran. Why did they run? It made her life more difficult, to chase her quarry. If they ran, they couldn’t have the eternal satisfaction of joining him. If they ran, they were little more than beasts. Like Calliope said, to run is to be forgotten. Why be forgotten, when you can be great, in the eyes of the Earthshaker?