Her answer came, though it was unexpected. The name Isilme had the boy buckle in despair while the name Omega left a hint of familiarity on the back of his mind. He had met her mother before; he could barely recall it as he'd still hugged Gunslinger's side, but the mare had been a devilish beast that much he could recall. It was really no surprise then this was her spawn, but she he'd never met and that was all that truly mattered here.

Although a small part of him relented, finding brethren in this Isilme native.

She goaded them on and gave an impressive display of her prowess as her hoof scarred the earth. Ricochet was all to aware she was physically capable; her body was well traced with muscle that much he could see. He hesitated still, recognizing something else in her, something mad. Whenever facing an opponent that has lost their grip on reality it becomes an entirely different battle. She probably does not register pain the same way he does. She likely lacks an empathy or sense of self-control.

If he ignites this battle, he has to go in with all he's got. Ricochet doesn't think she'll let him out a live if she comes out victorious - all the better reason not to lose.

He grins a wicked grin as the storm rises around them. The rain falls with gentle plops that coat his back and wet the ground. Not too wet he knows, a forehoof dragging back nonchalantly, as if changing position. Beneath the top layer the dry dirt blares with it bright color, though the rain soon quenches it with the rest.

"No, just stupid," he remarks as she laughs off the dog's attack. Ricochet simpers, though his amusement is drawn from a different source. "Round up," Ricochet breaths the command towards his dog. The snarling collie flicks an ear and then he's off, belly fur barely skipping over the ground as he flies like a lively shadow.

Paws trace marks in the dirt and grab hold better than Ricochet's hooves could ever hope to at the extreme speed and angles the dog runs at. Guns has began to run circles around the mare, keeping just far enough away to stay out of kicking range. Golden eyes watch her carefully as the dog works. With each loop the dirt is worn further down, the fresh stuff shown beneath. Ricochet whistles as the bitch shouts at the wind. Guns breaks hard right and the ground detonates.

The earthy dust had shifted to glittery black powder with each passing of the dog's paws. Every round kicked some dust into the air, and flung up some of the powder, though it fell back down much faster, and the rain didn't let even the dust rise too high. Unfortunate conditions, but Ricochet didn't need much more than a distraction.

The creme body plunged towards here just heartbeats after the loud pops and searing flame crackled from the ground. His teeth were peeled beneath scarred lips, aiming to pull blood from her little nose. His fore hooves slammed down in a hard, stiff movement that intended to rake the skin off the front of her forelimbs, or primarily her right limb. And through it all he didn't stop charging, his powderful haunches providing a great force of momentum which he would use as a physical ram to try and bull into her, likely knocking off her balance.

Under his breath he hissed the formal initiation his father had taught him. Never let your foe pass on without knowing you you are, it's just respectful.
"Ricochet the Incendiary - and Guns - you'll die now."