Vale.

That was the name on her tongue given to her by her Lord and Lady, yet no face in her mind, but Rhiannon wasn't so weak as to be perturbed. No, quite the opposite. Confidence rippled upon every growing muscle, over every inch of ebony, brindled musculature. Icy-silver and hot, molten-gold oculars were narrowed in condescending as the brindled Weaver stepped across the lands of her birth towards their impromptu battle ground, every movement a confident dance, sashaying like a demon-Queen across the Birdsong-thriving land.

Life was coming back to the northernmost Herd of Helovia, and Rhiannon hated it. She detested the lack of snow to crunch beneath her hooves, the scarcity of a bitterly cold wind, and the growing of ugly, unsightly new grasses, even if they worked well to appease her hunger. She loathed the new 'life' that took away the frozen kingdom in which she stalked; the melting of ice and snow, the abundance and birthing of little, annoying creatures and small animals, and the visitors.

"Ugh." The gall of it all, truly!

Just because it was Birdsong didn't entitle fools to come traipsing up to their doors and boldly stating to be let in, pecking at their windows for entrance like gossiping, flitting canaries. The thought was infuriating, and it was that very fury, that desire to wreak havoc that had caused Rhiannon to leave her humble cave in the evening hours and hunt out this 'Vale' fellow. Hopefully he would at least prove a challenge.

Stopping in the center of the Basin, the mare's eyes narrowed upon her surroundings, taking note of the pristine field of war. Dirt marred the earth, robbing the snow of its rightful place, and Rhiannon's experienced eye spotted scuff-marks and trudgings, proof that others had met here and locked horns before she. The lake was nearby, and brief memories of her time spent with Crowley, playing in the shallows, crossed her mind before Rhiannon slammed those memories into the recesses of her mind. Now was not the time for distractions. Around their little field of bloodshed, sparse pine trees surrounded them a distance off in a mockery of an arena. The evening sky was turning red and orange as the sun began its mighty descent, coating the land in bloody crimson waves and far too warm upon her body... A manic grin pulled at the Weaver's lips, showing teeth, and her eyes light up with excitement that coursed pleasurably through her muscled bulk. What a perfect setting for battle.

The dust-coated devil sucked in a large gulp of air, then summoned her challenger. "Vale!" The white-striped mar of darkness shouted, her vocals demanding and prude, head snapping upwards with twisted horns pointed proudly towards the sky, "Come, soldier!" A stamp of a dark, ebony hoof into soft, malleable dirt, and an annoyed flick of a frosted tail, and the Weaver continued in a loud, clamorous roar. "Meet me upon the battlefield. Prove your worth!"

@[Vale]

ooc: Birdsong Seasonal Spar | 0/3 Posts | Wordcount: 495
Magic and Companions ARE allowed!
Setting: In the middle of the Aurora Basin in the evening. The ground is dusty and dirty, the color of the land altered by the setting sun. The air is warm, but a slight chill is fast approaching with the coming nightfall.
Vale may make the first attack, if he wishes. Good luck, Ammy!