Airlia was bridled and saddled, tied to a nearby tree branch, and she was not impressed by it. She whinied and huffed, shaking her head furiously and trying to fly away.
"Calm," Bellerophon said, placing his hand on her head.
Her mane, usually silver, was streaked red with the blood from the cuts all over her body. She had been badly injured in the fight with the Chimaera and now, because of the victory, Bellerophon felt he was entitled to a spot with the Greek Gods and was planning to ride Airlia to Mount Olympus.
"You will be welcomed back with open arms, my beauty," he soothed. "You are a loved muse there, you have no place leading a mortal life. And if they refuse, we shall wage a war upon this Earth unlike any they have seen before."
Airlia made a small noise, almost like a mew. She was injured and just wanted to stop this pain she was in.
"Tomorrow... tomorrow we leave."