Bellona
To win the war, but flee the battle, is one of the Gods' greatest sins.

She charges after the mutt like a bat out of hell, bearing down on the bitch with enough ferocity to make any onlooker believe that she yearns to spill her blood across the sand. To any sane creature this notion may just be hyperbole, but in the hearts and minds of the fearsome bird and her fearful companion, it is as real as the rain pouring down on them. You come after me, tzitzimitl, you’d better know I’ll be after you.

The boy is unable to keep his emotions in check as he watches the peahen dive for the dame, although he makes an effort to transmit his anxiety through his shifting form instead of through the bond so as not to surprise her again. He will always do his best for her, even after every scolding she has delivered or every punishment she has dealt. She is far too important to him to risk putting her in harm’s way. If it were possible for the chick to project words as well as feelings, he would tell the warring vixen that he loved her. He would utter those three tender words to match her stream of curses each and every time. I love you.

His chocolate stare – the only part of him that is as permanent as his love – trails after the beautiful warrior like a hen gets after her chicks. A salt-and-pepper mess of molting feathers and growing hair flinches at the sight of the dog evading her charge. The boy shouts out to the peahen as she dives in pursuit of her target, but she cannot hear him. Her hooves find no mercy in the shifting sand as she fights for purchase in the damp arena, and her legs slip out from under her. A sapphire head collides into the ground at the same time that a green ass does, transmitting a powerful jolt from one throbbing end to the other. Tixtotomac.

The boy’s change could not have occurred at a worse time, for his transformation has rendered him unable to warn the Chieftess with his morphing vocal cords. The distress that he sends through their psychic link does manage to reach her, however, but all it does is cause the maiden to wrench her head back to watch the stag as he barrels towards her. His horns are lowered as if to stab her, but unless he readjusts their position to compensate for her fallen figure, it is only his hooves that pierce her colored hide. The downed vixen gasps as each weapon slams against her, wincing from each flash of pain. His blunt instruments strike the tender flesh of her belly first, although they do make contact with her ribs and the base of one wing as he runs over top of her. How dare you! As painful as the bruises are, they are nothing compared to her outrage.

The boy feels as if he has failed her, and he will never forgive himself for this. Forget that, pilontli. A stream of feelings invades her mind as she attempts to comfort him, but she is uncertain of how best to respond to this mixture of relief, agony, and joy. The sudden onslaught of thought makes her increasingly bitter, in fact. Stop that! Don’t you think I’ve endured enough pain? The peahen has better things to worry about than the rougarou’s feelings, after all. Now tell me where that necoc yaotl went! The drenched kitten cringes at her demands, although he does his best to project the unicorn’s image to her. She snorts at him in response, gasping at the pain that racks her side as her body clambers upwards. You have your uses. Thank you.

Without testing the durability of her freshly battered body, the panting vixen surges after the drunkard with a heavy limp in her stride, searching for his horned form and hoping that he is somewhere close by. A hoarse scream mixes with the rain permeating the air as she reaches for him, aiming to sink her teeth into any piece of his bulky form. Hopefully the beast is facing her so that she can try to latch onto his cheek or take out an eye, but she lashes out with her aching forelegs in an attempt to knee him in the chest as well. If the brute does happen to be running from her, however, it will not ruin her plans; her porcelains will aim for his chunky rump, and her thrashing legs will strive for his hocks instead.

At this point the vixen’s only desire is to repay the Legatus for the wounds he has inflicted her with, although teaching her companion a lesson works too. Make your final moments count, for they are just as important as your first.


"Talk talk talk."

{WC: 800|Attack: 3/3|Defense: 0/1

tzitzimitl -- "demon."
tixtotomac -- "you are a fool."
pilontli -- "boy/small one."
necoc yaotl -- "traitor."
mictla -- "place of death."}