Arcant Drift…what an ironic name for me. I didn't learn to fly until the better part of last year; even a unicorn learned how to levitate herself before I flapped enough to stay off the ground.
My parents noticed my dilemma bothering me some nights ago over dinner. My father, a bulk of flame colored dragon and power, with a pair of rugged wings bore upon his back. His face told his stories through the scars and stained scales where the war paint and blood found its home for decades, but his words told them better. But the words that night weren't for entertainment.
"Embarrassing isn't it, son?" Father told me. "I learned how to flap my wings a soon as I grew them. That was almost a hundred years ago, but I've only been flying since I came here."
"You've only been flying for twenty years, even though you've had wings for that long?"
"Yes and the Migration wouldn't have been as enjoyable if I hadn't made the comrades I did. I would've never learned how at all if your mother hadn't helped me when I set out on my own afterwards."
I looked to Mother, as did he; a griffon and Cloudsdale native. Her eyes wandered past us, letting us know that she was reminiscing. Her beak was never flawed, along with the rest of her appearance. She was 'naturally perfect' in Father's words. Her white feathered hair was always swept back, revealing her blue eyes, and her brown coat feathers always pressed and flowed majestically to her lion half. This is, of course, Father's description of her. I only see her as the mother I've known forever.
But how could a dragon and a griffon make a pony? I knew they weren't my real parents, only adoptees, but they were my father and mother who raised me from foal-hood.
"The problem was with your lack of confidence in your own power, dear." Mother said to Father. "I guess I helped bring that out of you." She took another bite of rice.
The meal lay before me was plain as could be: rice, with a sauce, and a bit of green vegetables. The rice wasn't as appetizing as it could've been and the greens were bitter. It wasn't Mother's fault; the weather in the Colony didn't permit the best produce. Father had fish from the nearby river. The other ponies found it strange to eat meat, but Mother and I understood a dragon's needs.
I'll admit to deviating from my natural vegetarian diet when Father offered me a fillet in my younger years. It was a bit slimy, juicy, and the way it tore under my flat teeth didn't add any delight to the attempt. But it went down to my stomach and it was satisfied. Two times over the transcendent years did I eat meat again, once on a dare and another when I was lost for two days.
"Eat up, Arcant. You have studies tomorrow and I don't want you to go to them hungry." Mother told me, dragging me from my thoughts.
"Right…sorry, Mother." I apologized. She smiled and returned her focus to her own food. I continued to scoop up mine.
…
Our house is oddly shaped and organized to meet Colony standards. My bedroom occupied the entire second floor: a large, open space, originally designed for storage. In a way, it was fitting for me, seeing that I saw myself as nothing more. My parents' room was directly next to the landing of the stairs leading up to my area. The main room was, obviously, the largest. It connected all the rooms together. The kitchen and dining area were one room, positioned across from my parents' room.
I kept myself busy after dinner by letting my thoughts drift about my head, sometimes thinking towards the future, then to the past. But my bed became more comfortable every minute I lay under the covers and my mind blanked when sleep came.