Unsupported by a contentious crowd and partial anonymity, Ophelia found that she liked Artorius much better. He was young to lead a herd, but then again, she had been too. However, the position was not handed to her so simply; she and her twin gathered, fought and invaded with a band of mercenaries. Earning was much more satisfying, and part of her hoped that he would realize this fact sooner rather than later. As her gaze shifted over his feathered form, she wanted to tell him that she was grateful for the distraction. Within seconds his presence had shifted the confusion and heartache toward a fang-gnashing thirst for the pain and pleasure of a heavy spar. Since when had she turned into her father?

Hooves rooted in place, she awaited his answer, a shiver in her spine praying that he would accept. Wide eyes, the color of the forest, stared at her, and she stared back, patiently waiting for his tongue to catch up with his body and soul. He would be honored, and she returned his respectful gesture with a dip of her own crowned skull. Seconds ticked by, and she felt as if she could wait no longer. But she held her tongue, memories competing with reality for her attention. The surge of adrenalin and strain on her muscles would aid in this mental argument, but she was not cruel enough to begin a battle before he was ready.

From the words he spoke in the World’s Edge, he was untried and new, and though her purposes here were singular, she did want to leave him with a good impression of both herself and the Aurora Basin. She wanted to display that she was capable – a worthy judge for the new warrior leader of Kahlua’s herd. He was one of the few who acknowledged his weaknesses and still offered to honor the Moon Goddess by living in the herd, and that, to Ophelia, was commendable. That commendable heart, it seemed, was not only for show.

The stallion reached to grasp a bundle of feathers from his back and tucked the companion away for safe keeping. Ophelia had no idea what the creature was, but a small smile tugged at her lips, finding it very cute. Feathers reminded her of Irelyn, the fiery little griffin who could both terrorize and snuggle devoutly. Both she and Torleik loved fiercely, and she only hoped that there was enough of her left to return the same. Her mood took a circle, having lost her distraction when Artorius’ eyes left her own for the safety of his bonded. The pale princess sighed inaudibly, perking only once the stallion situated himself and began to walk forward.

Instincts were not natural to Ophelia; she had to hone them carefully over time until they were a part of her memories. So, she lifted her proud, gray neck and turned her cheek, eyeing him from the right as he made his approach from that side. Though he was smaller, he had wings large enough to fly; that alone gave him a significant advantage. Strength, for once, was on her side, as her well-coupled musculature and lithe physique allowed her fine motor control and power – at least against this opponent. She would have to think twice were she locked in battle with the much stronger Torleik.

Naturally, she side-stepped his advance, looking over her shoulder as his hooves lashed out. One of them glanced off of her silver armor, but the other hit her square in the gaskin just as she was making to move away. Ophelia hissed in a breath at the fast forming bruise, and she held it up tightly for but a second to alleviate some pain. Honestly, she was surprised. He was much, much quicker than she had anticipated, and she would relish the opportunity to keep up.

Like a star in the forest, she glowed, poor camouflage against the blackness of the night sky. She raised her right, hind leg to step forward, favoring it slightly as she cantered after Artorius. The distraction was working. She hardly felt the confliction of the rapid events plaguing Orangemoon weighing on her heart, and she breathed freely now as she attempted to slide her left side next to his right. Aiming to use her height to her advantage, she curled her neck over, jaws widely opened to bite sharply on the point of his right hip. Should she fail, she had a secondary opportunity. Ophelia struck outward with her left, front foreleg, desiring to glance at his hock with her cloven toes.

The pain brought her back to reality, grounded her firmly in the earthen scent of decaying leaves. But, the long awaited taste of blood was the wine she desired.



[[(1/3) (795 words in word)
- Ophelia takes his kick sharply on her right Gaskin
- Chases after him, trying to line up parallel, left side to right side and bite him on his right hip bone
]]