All she could smell was brine and seawater, but the stranger did not hide his approach. The spider heard him coming—the thunderous crash of his hooves on the water was a din that travelled for what seemed like miles.

Nymeria did not turn to face the leviathan.

Instead, she remained facing out towards the horizon line, marveling at the seamless transition from sea-to-sky. Despite the acceleration of her heartbeat (a leftover reflex from her age as a foal both young and vulnerable) she stood tall and proud, channeling her old mother’s arrogance. Whether the titan (for surely the unseen horse must be, to be that loud) presumed this to be foolishness or ignorance on her part mattered not. Soon enough she would discover the reason for his approach, and change her actions as necessary to make the best of the situation.

Lilómiel wheeled around, and through his violent eyes Nymeria watched the dark silhouette on the horizon draw closer.

The stranger was colossal, his size to rival even her brother’s—but that was not what was intimidating about him. It was instead within his clipped stride, and the hardness to the muscles flexing beneath his steel coat... the way he carried himself. Powerful. Hungry. Fierce—except beyond fierce, or any of those words, transcending into an almost godly realm full of presumed arrogance and greed. As for if that were good or not, Nymeria hadn’t yet judged.

Above, the black screamed. The raw sound tore out across the flats, twisted and ugly. Nymeria did not need to have a bond to Lil to hear the fury and the rage and the hate that had corroded away every quality of worth he once had.

This is what he had become, and it was all because of her.
She couldn’t help but delight in that, warped as it was.

Burgeoning in the black’s mind, bleeding out across their bond, comes a question of hunger and bloodlust. Can we? A soft corner of her mouth quirked up in answer, monstrous and beautiful. Her heart was beating hard and fast, and her legs were almost trembling—not with fear, not with terror, but with scandalous longing. It was true she hadn’t fought anyone, and she had her reservations about the nature of war, some sort of primordial fear of failure; except… she was made for this, wasn’t she? And there always had to be a first time.

And unlike her mother, she recognized failure to be part of life.
The spider turned to face her opponent.

Bi-colored eyes did not meet hers. They traced over her body, over what felt like every inch of her skin, over parts both ‘private’ and not. Some inkling of rage flickered in her breast—disgust and fury and frustration, but mostly she flushed from head-to-hoof with burning want. Sensual desire surged through her veins—and she hated herself for it.
How could a fucking stranger reduce her to a horny bitch?

Dance with me.
 It was an invitation that needed no second asking.

The spider glanced towards Lilómiel, who let out a second scream of challenge and began to fly as swiftly as possible towards Abraham. It was not just an idle glance—Nymeria hoped to draw the stallion’s gaze towards the dragon as well and distract him, even if momentarily, from her own actions. Simultaneously, she took hold of the magic veins around them.

For a moment, the sheer volume of water and blood almost overwhelmed her. She was well-practiced in wielding her unique brand of sorcery, but in this scenario it was distinctly different. There was no time to hesitate—she had to trust her instincts and her practice.

The spider snatched at the blood within Abraham’s veins and pulled as hard as she could. It was rather particularly violent—she imagined forcing the red fluids from his every pore and dragging it out from his tear ducts, nostrils, and ears. A split second following the visualization, her metaphorical hand carefully keeping hold of the magic, she picked up a long-strided but contained canter, eyes squinted against the glare cast by the sun. She attempted to slam her right shoulderblade against Abraham’s rightmost chest, and snapped out with her teeth towards her she hoped Abraham’s withers would be.

Erstwhile to her physical movement, Lilómiel attempted to close the distance between him and Abraham. His hungry, heated jaws parted to let loose a gout of flame, aiming for Abraham’s left eye and cheekbone.

They might be new to actual fighting, but nobody said they had to suck at it.