Hooves smack into flesh and bone and it was a sickening sensation she remembered only too well. Sharp, hard hooves cut open the skin beneath the thick fur, and even as she beat her wings to stop the downward momentum Shadow felt her legs sting and burn as something red splattered up across them. Howling in pain she used the body of her child's enemy as a stepping stone and kicked off from it, back up into the air even as a white-hot orb of fire exploded nearby. The air was thick with magic by now, energies flying this way and that; she had a heck of a time dodging and avoiding it all as she worked her way higher into the sky, heart beating frantically in fear and reluctant excitement.

She hated battles. The path of the warrior was not hers, so why was it that she time and again ended up in situations that required such skills? Well, she had much too few of them, and her priorities were horribly skewed. Jewel-bright eyes scoured the ground below, not for more enemies but in search of a small, pale child with more courage than was good for her. Where was she, the child, the precious daughter who grew to become so different from her serious older brother? The silver to his steel, light in his darkness, naive innocence where he had known far too much. She flew this way and that, avoided magic and splattering blood as best she could, bit back tears of pain and distress...

There! Small, frail, jousted back and forth by bigger and less considerate fighters. Others were accompanying her, it seemed; the pretty gold-stained girl Erthë had been talking to before, and a stallion of unknown name and character. Relief flooded the heart of the Blackbird, she made to lower herself further through the air to land by the girl.

But before she reached the ground, something happened with the wolf. She had been vaguely aware that it had staggered and collapsed beneath the brutal weight of defenders, and thought it finished, that the battle was over. But instead of dying the thing multiplied, like a last, horrible spawning of sickly, twisted miniature versions of itself. These things were a lot faster than their origin, and Shadow realized that they were a hundred times more dangerous because of it. A cry tore from her lips as she once again folded the wings and dived, this time aiming to swoop down and knock one of the hell-spawns off its feet by slamming herself into its misshapen side.

All the time she kept shooting glances towards Erthë, ready to abandon her own fight and assist the girl in a heartbeat, should she need it.

But a part of her was aching with pride over the daughter, how she fought just as bravely as many of the adults around her. She was far too young of course, but perhaps it was a little warrior that hid within that frail, diminutive body?

Future would have to tell, and Shadow was determined to make sure that the girl would get all the time she needed to grow into whatever she was meant to become. For that, too, was what mothers were all about.