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

Success! Satisfaction races through her veins as the lady’s pretty mouth bites into the brute’s cheek. She cannot say that the man tastes good, but she can’t necessarily say the opposite, either; there is just too much sand mixed with his flesh, and the metallic tang of his blood takes away from the flavor. Not that it matters much, for in the long run, a bite is a bite, regardless of its essence. Striped legs meet their mark, too, and the vicious lady can’t help but to reveal her wicked smile. It is an exquisite feeling to know you have thwarted your opponent, but that conquest is made more remarkable when you know you have caused them distress as well. Even the hoarse cry that flies from his gaping maw is music to her ears. Sing for me again, beast, is her silent encouragement to the reeling man. Or I will be tempted to make you.

Her victory is short lived, however, for the stocky unicorn is quick to return her blow. The agile bird has barely any time to make use of her sharp reflexes before the clambering man is upon her, and she can’t even turn away from him before he has already risen. A sudden barrage of emotion forces her to throw her head back in surprise, and although the move prevents her head from taking any damage, her windpipes cannot say the same. The beast’s wide hooves tenderize the ruby flesh of her throat, providing her with fresh bruises in a tone that opposes her bloody one. The Aztec struggles to breathe as her mind fumbles to place the blame on a certain spotted dog, but every fiber of her being is concentrated on the act of taking in air.

Help… me… Her plea is pitiful in comparison to the fiery retort that she has once sought to deliver, but even so the boy responds to her commands with as much devotion as a priest to the Gods. His concern for her is evident in his tumbling stride and his sharp bark, but it is not to her side that he lopes towards; it is to the vile predator with the corkscrew horns that he makes his advance. The wheezing warrior watches the confrontation blearily; unable to see much through the rain other than the boy’s gangly form approaching the brute’s much bulkier one. Seeing the stand-off is not the same as feeling it, however, and the aggression that permeates their bond heightens with the pup’s harsh bark. The shifting beast has made his motives clear: his mother will be harmed no longer. Despite the betrayal that she feels at having her orders ignored, the beauty – who has learned to breathe again – can’t help but to allow a grand smile to creep across her features. Her body might be lost in the music of a battle long lost, but her heart beats to the rhythm of the sweetest of victories. You’ve done well, Mictla. Come stand beside me so that we may face this man together.

A delighted shiver courses through her body, daring damp feathers to spring up and display their glamour as the dark pup trots to her side. The vixen is so lost in her pride that she almost gives in to the temptation, but a worried bark reminds her that nothing can be gained from showing off. Instead of accentuating her beauty, the peahen chooses to accentuate her strength; an arched neck and outstretched wings transforms her from wounded damsel to staggered guardian. To the Aztec the battle has not gone on long enough, but to her battered frame it is certainly time to stop.

Chilly droplets slide down dark cheeks as she considers her opponent, appreciative of the wound she has marked him with. What do you say, boy? Does he deserve another? Her stare rakes across his brindled figure mechanically, meaning to search for some weaknesses she can exploit but appraising his lack of injuries instead. It seems that I have gone soft. It is he who should be suffering. The hybrid furrows her brow in concern, but the feeling is gone as a wave of pleasure washes over her. It is to the exuberant boy that she turns her attention towards next, and she ensures that her favor of him does not go unheard. "You have proven yourself today, pilontli. I would be a fool if I did not say so." The flames behind her stare soften to something almost fond, but the harsh gleam returns once she continues. "You have done the same, Rostislav. I do not know why we consider each other in distaste, but you have shown me that you deserve your title. Well fought, Legatus."


"Talk talk talk."

{WC: 790|Attack: 3/3|Defense: 1/1

pilontli -- "boy/small one."}