Copper child stands ready and alert, eyes full of eagerness and a desire to go. Her third round is set on unfamiliar sands, and the shifting movement of an inconstant earth fills the girl with a strangely joyous relief. Though plants tear at nimble hocks, unrecognizable scrub pulling eagerly at golden hairs, it's still a desert, still something she knows, somewhere which does not pull at her nerves and send palpitations through a fluttering heart. Even the rain cannot dampen her spirits; the trickling heavens are sharp pinpricks of frigid pain, reminders of every muscle in her body that leave her eager, alert and aware. She breathes in the dawn and is rewarded with vitalization; it creeps into her eyes and sets her teeth on edge, making her fidget as she readies for fight.

The golden girl's spirits are not all that have changed. The weight of her armor is discarded, left behind in a pile on the floor of the wooden cave. Instead of mail she now wears feathers, long ivory primaries woven into her matted mane and spread within the braided tail. Shorter, darker plumage is tied within the feathering of her slender forelegs, covering her hooves and picking up sand. More form a headdress upon her crown, a helmet of hide opulently adorned with the avian features from white crest to beak. The cresting plumage arches between and behind her ears; her beak is made of polished wood, pointing down beyond her lip, though the underbite remains unadorned. Upon her withers, the finishing touch, useless wings of feathered hide secured by a harness which wraps around thin forequarters. Some structure is afforded by sticks woven within, but the wings are a silver decoration at their core, beauty without function or any real control.

Without the guise of a glorious knight, Tandavi stands a little less straight, the gleam in her eyes a little less moral. Her opponent, again, is roughly her age, and she is ready to truly get down to the games: no more feinting and fainting, no more holding back. She can taste the magic which bounces from the slightly shorter mare, see the purple and snow-capped tang. It invigorates her, inspires her; she grins beneath the avian mask, eyeing her opponent and planning her attack.

She is not alone, of course. Natraj sits on the sidelines once more, this time wearing a golden bird mask of his own, but he does not look to where his sister stands; instead, he eyes the vultures who circle and caw, wary and weary and ready to cry out to the girl if one ventures too close.

Firechild springs into furious movement, long legs leaping toward her staunchly built foe, steps sure despite the treacherous terrain. Black eyes narrow as she squints through the rain, letting the chill stoke her inner fire. The unicorn lacks Tandavi's slim build; she is shorter, and stouter, too sturdy for a girl with long legs to unseat. But the copper girl's limbs are useful for escape, and though she approaches the other mare from the left, she stops suddenly, feinting and dashing to the right, angling her body alongside her foe and aiming bright teeth at whatever she can reach.

In sickening hindsight she realizes this might be unwise, for the beak on her mask makes incisor movement prohibitive.

The girl attempts to compensate by kicking where she thinks a foreleg might be, hinds stretching out and left in a passing sweep; but she is flustered, and impassioned, and little regard given for aim, though in truth she wants not to fracture, but bruise. There is no reason to be cruel when playing a game, no need to maim where play is involved. Her wings flop uselessly with every step, slapping her sides and spurring her on, the feeling and sound an echo of her heart. This is fun, a release, and she can only hope her opponent feels that way, too.

Despite her good will, the girl is careful not to stay long within her foe's reach. Limbs stretch out, stride regained- or one stride, at least, before she stumbles and trips. Hidden foliage reaches from the desert sand and clings to her hooves, a betrayal of one who should belong in this terrain; she scrambles to regain her balance, looking back at the unicorn mare with a glimmer of laughter in her eyes.

[ @Roskuld] | 737 words | 1/2 ]
Tandavi is dressed as a white hippogriff, with feathers in her mane and on her forelegs, a feathered mask with a wooden beak, and feathered "wings" that hang off her withers and flop around.
Summary: runs toward Ros' right, feinting at the last minute and shifting to her left. Tries to bite whatever she can, though her mask makes it hard. Kicks at Ros' forelegs as she runs past, then attempts to flee, but stumbles as she flees. ]