She was not a border he could not break, at least not in truth, but he was loathe to roll a princess across the ground in his haste to tear at the idiot and, while he is sometimes unable to make use of his better judgment, it wins out in this case. His mind still is blurred by the irrational outrage he feels towards the unicorn child, his youthful training mixed with his abundant pride for his home having spurred him, once again, into the churning waters of his emotions – and unlike sadness, which was terrible in its own way, anger made the water red with blood and broke everything into pieces.

As he prowls with his ears pinned and his coat dampening with the sweat of adrenaline, he can feel Semira’s eyes on him but refuses to look to her for a time as his words cut the air and his anger burns out in his heart. He doesn’t want to know if he’s embarrassing himself or making the dragon princess uncomfortable with his outrage, and he cares even less to see shame writ across her face if that is the case he will find. Her voice reaches him still, rising over the embers that crackled and smoked within him and the sway of her tail almost dragging his eyes to her. His ears still settle hard against the top of his head, blue eyes narrowed in disbelief that it had only been unease among the dragons that had caused the assault; everything happened for a reason.

Everything.

”You don’t have to be angry anymore,” she says, and he does look at her this time, still hot headed but easing into his normal state of peace as he lets his fervent eyes glaze along her figure as she reaches out to touch him, the warmth of her body seeping into the already heated lining of his own. Her breath is gentle and he can tell from her words that she only means to soothe him, but he cannot understand why she is not upset at the antics of a fool when his words had been targeted at the land of her birth. A deep breath breaks from his nostrils, his exhalation hot in the air and heating his sensitive muzzle until he snorts the last of his aggravation out in a giant sound and a shaking of his head, a fore hoof slamming into the ground for one last hoorah before he settles into the slowing pace of his heart and tries to explain with a more clear mind.

”I don’t trust him, regardless,” he says resolutely, ”nothing in this world comes to pass without cause. To think so is to invalidate your Gods and their ability to protect you, and what Gods are they then?” He stares out into the wood at the still swaying branches that Azarel had darted through, the heat in his eyes now replaced with a cool shadow that told of the fury he had just let go of. ”If he comes back I’ll snap that stick off his head and use it as a carving tool.”