The miracle of flight was not a feat that just any mook of the Overlord’s army could readily boast.  One truly began to think differently when granted the vast dimension of airy space above the ground.  Even those who did reach the skies often struggled to keep the idea of boundlessness from overwhelming them.  Possessed of that certain rush of euphoria from time to time when soaring high above the plains and trees, Clotho found it both literally and figuratively grounding to walk the earth.  A disciple of the research hall, however overgrown with papery hive, she did not get out much, and actually enjoyed the opportunity to stretch her legs.  Her long stroll along with her army did not afford her complete relaxation, however.  When faced with the endless sky and rushing, exciting wind, feelings haunted Clotho of a past life—one where she dreamed of making her own fate in the world.  Yet here she stood, mighty and militant, still nothing more than a subordinate.  It caused her sorrow.  If alcohol could be found among the Horde’s stockpiles, she would have tasted that relieving fugue.

As the terrain changed, Clotho unwittingly shared in her Master’s discomfort, imaging the enemy to lurk in every corner of this unknown territory, however paranoid.  When the order came to make camp, she allowed her Myrmidons, Antlions, and Lambent to settle in, finding or creating comfortable, shaded clefts to rest in.  Clotho, meanwhile, warmed up her wings and took to the breezes to seek out the Overlord for orders.  She welcomed the idea of an elite scouting party, and rendezvoused with the other members for a quick discussion before their departure.  She landed between D’Artagan and Faeles, and attempted to volunteer for the requested leadership position only to be cut off by both the fire demon and the oversized rabbit in quick succession.  [color=9F8170]”I would have liked to extend my proven expertise in leadership over this squad as well,”[/color] she remarked, irked, only for Torrens to come to the aid of D’Artagan.  She watched him hop off, not so much as waiting for his group to follow behind him.  Clotho sniffed, coldly haughty.  [color=9F8170]”Brilliant.  I wish our intrepid commander the best of luck.”[/color]  Her words made it crystal clear that D’Artagan could lead as long as he didn’t expect her to follow, not that he’d given them anything to follow but a fluffy white tail.  Clotho’s wings hummed and she shot upward into the air, becoming little more than an indistinct dark blur in a matter of seconds, which then began to proceed in the direction of the enemy fortification.