illynx,

The golden bitch feels the mare’s white teeth graze the golden length of her right stifle, but she does not care despite the strangely numb pain that tingles along behind the obscure pressure of incisors; her mind cries hopefully that it knocks her damn pearly whites out. She does care, however, when they manage to tap lightly on the already bruised and beginning to swell angle of her knee. A growling yelp of sorts escapes her lips as she completes her forward motion, the wounded leg instinctively tucked nearer her body than the left one, which is angled at a dangerous point and supported by her well muscled shoulders.

It will do the job plenty well enough, she assumes.

The sickening sound of mud clinging to the body of the pegasus as she vainly rolls about in the wet earth is almost pleasing, the wicked damsel’s laughter at the squirming mass beneath her cold and compassionless as it barks out in the deluge. More pleasing than the fact that the mud streaked turkey still struggled to escape was the eventual impact, the delightful noise of bones crushing beneath dirty hooves filling Illynx’s ears with the music that had fueled every vicious act in her life.

Her left hoof has done the breaking, her weight pressed down on that single point; the same location is used for her to push off of, spinning away from the fallen pegasus in a quarter rear towards the right and away from the pale paint’s fallen body that is aided in fluidity by the water and earth that have blended in the turmoil of their hooves.

She prances about the flailing legs, her smile sickening and ever so delighted with what she has done.

Lowering her blood soaked features towards the wing still exposed to the sky, she nimbly reaches out with her lips to pluck a blue feather, one of the long ones that extend on the ends of the grotesque appendages. ”Why? softly asks the fallen skyrat, and she turns her golden eyes coldly to watch the weakling’s head slump back down into the mud.

”To prove that I am strong,” she says savagely to dead ears, grasping her feather of choice and wrenching it free of it’s fleshy holds. Blood, the same red ambrosia that covers her horn and face, leaking down into her eyes, a single crimson droplet, rises from the end of the thing as she turns to return to the mountain.

And with such a smug smile on her pretty little face.

[ OOC: Essentially, she's heading home in the rain with her new shiny ~~ Hope it's fine I duplicated the post! I can modify more onto it if need be. ]

intending to burn - pretending to fight it
everyone learns faster on fire