In this she was not torn. The Sun was attacking the crocodile - he was a threat - and so she was attacking the crocodile.

Flames had drawn her attention as she wandered the flats, lost in thoughts and hoping moving hooves would unwind them. She was still hesitant to return home, still trying to put her anger somewhere where it would be useful. This seemed perfect. This was what she'd been expecting.

She had believed their god when he spoke that first day, and she did not hold it against him now as he rained fire down upon the opposing deity he claimed would not come. If Ampere had learned anything in the last year, it was that the gods were exceptionally flawed beings that were more mortal than anyone seemed to realize, including themselves. Maren might kick her for such a thought, but the truth was plain to the Mother of Companions, and it was both terrifying to realize and satisfying.

As the black and blue mare flew towards the unfolding battle she grappled for electricity, but found none. There was no plant matter here for her to shift, the lands deadened with all the salt. Frowning, the mare instead reached back for her knives. "Feusohm," she murmured, and the bone dagger rattled in her electric hold. "Tuor," she hummed, and the iron glinted with expectancy as it flew alongside her. "Go..." and with a well practiced flick of her ability the blades were sent with their tips screaming down towards the crocodile god. She figured the rough hide leather might resist her blades, though Feusohm did have a rather nasty bite, so she aimed for something she could not see but could sense.

With black tar still against her face Ampere could detect the crocodile's electrical impulses as his body worked. What was not visible was still there, so she aimed closer to the head, where his vital senses might be exposed. She kept flying too, swerving around Gaucho and his swath of flames, sparing him a passing look as she went, but otherwise her focus was on the fight. She grappled for control of those very impulses she could now sense. Like a puppeteer she reached for the strings of electricity that controlled his, and all bodies, hoping to jerk his head back and up into his knives and all the other blows being thrown his way.