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Her words are lost to the whistling wind that whisks past my ears like the wheezing of a congested dragon; each humid breathe harasses silky thatch to dance a tight waltz. Yar, had I been in a position to catch the meaning and tone, these lips would’ve spread for cruel laughter rather than annoyance; nar, only the foolish or desperate drew on frustration and enmity as strength. I flew in large arch around that pale frame and our dusty training circle, keeping both gilden eyes upon yon tricky Mason – hard lines softened with both amusement and sadness by how easily flustered she became.

Moments later, Elsa
cantered from the ground and launched herself airborne.

“Control,”gentle vocals whisper to heaven, wisdom she’d never hear, “Focus,” those words pressed, as if they'd reach between the mist of our minds and solidify into a reality. Her larger bulk caught an uplifting draft and rose to my level from behind. Yar, was Elsa quickened by irritability? Hastened by some rouge desire to see me bleed? Fury was blind, madness was stupid. Ebony crown pulls up and twists round to hang low across my neck, trying to keep her in my sights. She seemed to be aiming to fly higher than me; I allowed it and drift a little lower –there is a rough, but genuine desire to train yon hasty soul, it overrids my need for victory. Aye, my purpose is to be her bondsman, a mentor; even if she grew to hate our friendship.

I heard those heavy hammers edge tantalizingly closer; caught a sidelong glimpse of pale sand rapidly growing darker, larger as my personal shadowy friend is suddenly forced to mate by rape. Ivory pinions unexpectedly slow their motion, jerking to angle up, pulling the cranium that directs them along. Slowing to the point of nearly stopping I lean back, pressing my weight toward tense haunches. Wings are thrashing hard now, trying maintain altitude while levitating and reduce my speed as swiftly as possible.

She soared lower and past, the wind from her movements lashed against my face, causing these eyes to squint in an effort to defend against possible danger. Those unmarked feathers threatened to occupy the space inches from where I’d have soared into only a moment or so prior. The back of those ivory hindfeet are thrashing, one of her daggers clip firmly against my right forearm (that's been dangling out, due to a lack of time to retract,) it dug into my hot flesh smartly enough to scrap fur away from the meat. Though no blood was drawn. That stinging leg reflectively curls itself tighter against my barrel, a soft rasp escaped low, a sound that was almost a groan when pressed against clinched lips and teeth.

Twinging pain, an annoyance and driving factor. I lung forward, (favoring my leg to remain tucked close), pinions are labored, struggling despite my lighter bulk. I hoped to gain enough speed that would allow precious seconds to catch up. Ashy dome extends, throwing the dice, angling with these lips slide back against the ivory soldiers that stood patiently for their spears to be sunk into musky flesh. I launch my attack toward her quarters, aiming to sink deep into those curvy, womanly thighs.

Attack: (2/3)
OOC:
Words: 543