The boy's mouth splits in a toothy grin when the dragon comes to his aid. He is grateful to have a friend now; someone whom he can interact with freely without worrying about the impact that his actions (which are always committed with good intentions) will have on the bitter bird. Rather than dwell on the matter, though, the hyena allows the physical pain owed to the thistles to wash away the sorrow that his mistress' inaction has dealt. One by one, the seeds of his humiliation are all washed away. All that there is room for inside of his spotted skull is his next plan of attack: leaping for one of dragon's wings.
As much as it pains her to give the boy her attention, the vixen can't stop herself from rolling her eyes. Her hard stare -- which is beginning to melt, for the white maid's kindness and her companion's playful antics have slowly chipped away at her core -- breaks free of Ophelia's asymmetrical gaze for a moment. The bitter woman swings her head back as if to itch her ribs, but really the action is meant to observe the spotted boy.
You need to pin it down; don't just try to grab it. Another few seconds of pretending to scratch her ruby flesh. You won't have any advantage if you keep at it like that.
The cub is so startled by her sudden contribution that he halts his advance on the silver to look at her. Finally, finally the insensitive woman gives him the attention that he has always craved, but... Why now? Why not when he was in trouble before?
Rather than receive an answer from her, though -- and instead of sending his confusion to her through their bond -- the boy just shakes his head. Someday he will understand why the Aztec acts the way she does. She has returned to her conversation with the horned lady for now, and so he will busy himself as well. With the striped warrior's advice in mind, the cub dives for one of the dragon's leathery wings with a cackle.
"So he is not only a fiery man, but a smart one at that?" She cannot conceal the smirk that forms upon her maw. The bird truly does not mean to be rude, but she can't help but be amused at the incredible similarity between her and this God. If he were to give away a piece of his heart to all of us, he would be left empty. Oh, how these words do speak to the last of a glorious race. If only the red-tipped wench knew of the people that the bird's sputtering heart died with so long ago. Niquilnamiqui, oquichtin.
The heartache that comes with their memory is enough to placate the mare when the Forsaken next judges her character. Rather than retaliate to her words with ferocity and disrespect, though, the bird only illuminates the depths of blood and water with the fire that burns beneath her own pools.
"I succeeded in the task he set about me. I excelled where others only imitated or failed." A snarl starts to form upon the lady's blue lips, but she refuses to submit to the arrogance that had cost her a prize before. Standing before is an individual who has seen the bird rise upon brilliance and fall upon outrage, and there is nothing to be gained from utilizing the latter in this discussion.
Drawing in a deep breath to cool the flames causing her blood to boil, the stubborn warrior parts her lips in a phrase that has scarcely touched them before: "Forgive me, for I was in the wrong." Bright ears flatten back against her skull for a moment. The pride in her voice is eliminated by her shame, and her voice is akin to that of a scolded school girl when she says, "I should not have acted as I did, to you or to him. I am... sorry." The flames in her eyes burn at a lower temperature when she says this, and blunt teeth chew at her lip in thought.
Her words have regained their usual tone when she starts to talk again, although they are spoken with more care now.
"I am impulsive. I do not sit idly and wait for others to do what my mind dictates. I act when it suits me. I do not waste my time considering every option when I could just listen to my instincts. I admire that in others, as well, I guess." Beautiful wings swing back in yet another shrug. "Talking, and sociability, as you know, are not what suit me. Apologizing is not something... I admire. It is weakness. It is proving that by acting upon what my body tells me to do I can commit wrong. How can one trust their body and still not do right?"
"blah blah blah." @[Ophelia]
{Niquilnamiqui, oquichtin -- "I remember [you], brave warriors."
So long. Getting back into the groove and loving it!}
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