"It is now you will be leaving, Confutatis." Archibald spat her name, his massive form rising from behind a massive trunked tree. His patrols had lead him here, the scent of an outcast and the white and orange form of another warrior bringing him close. His golden eyes were liquid fire on him as he closed the distance. He gave a careful flick of his ear to Cheveyo, relieving her of the duty of this mare. Confutatis was in the charge of the Dauntless now, and she would not step hoof into his herdland without a hellish battle. The mammoth was sworn now to protect this place, and he knew this mare before him only as a demon. She had challenged Apollo moons ago in the Foothills, and he watched the crystal-horned stallion come out victorious of her. If Apollo could defeat this poisonous mare, the warlord could do it with his eyes closed and ears removed.

"Your path is ended. Turn away now, you are not welcome here in the edge. You seek only destruction. By all of the authority of the World's Edge, you are never to enter these lands as long as I am here to protect it. These are the words of law, given by Archibald the Dauntless, iron wrought and supported by the Stormbringer and the Sunshower." Archibald's voice was a hurricane, loud and deep and smooth and clear. He had not been named the Captain of this herd yet, by mouth, but he had won the battle of four warriors. Even if he were never named the army's lead in this herd, or again in his life, Archibald would always carry authority.

From the shadows Loretta stalked forward, her hair raised along her spine. Her amber eyes narrowed and her tail did not curl over her hips, but stuck rod straight. Her white lips drew back to reveal deadly fangs, the growl rising from her throat rumbling thick and threatening. She stanced herself on Archibald's left, her legs set and ready for battle. She flooded Archibald's thoughts with the image of the mare, bloodied and broken, laying dead at their hooves like so many had before. Her blood will be sweet. I will offer you her heart. The malamute sent to her bonded, and Archibald's ears pinned as he set his hooves, a wall more powerful than any glass remnant that lay at their borders. His eyes and body were hard, his face solid. He was not in the mood to be messed with, he was not going to put his herd at jeopardy, and he would unleash his personal wrath in revenge of Apollo should she decide to pry. He remembered the curse Apollo had called her, shinigami, and he knew it meant only a fowl, demonic sort of bitch.