Korra

thrilling to think, poor child of sin - it was the dead who groaned within

The taste of defeat was a bitter one, and it was certainly not one she was used to. For a moment, the barbarian held her ground, lobes pinned flat against her neck and teeth bared in a ferocious grimace of rage. But she knew she could not take them all on alone; they had lost, it was pointless for her to keep fighting until the bitter end. If she died here, it wouldn’t matter and it wouldn’t win their homeland back. Coming to this realization, she felt like her pillars were being weighed down by a thousand pounds as she slowly began to follow her comrades. With a hiss the savage withdrew from her home, feeling hatred and panic in one big turmoil within her withered heart. To think that a horde of blood-traitors and hornless would now reside in the forests where she had peacefully dwelt – it was unbearable. Now they scrambled, all the proud unicorns that used to roam here, reduced to bleeding, headless wrecks as they fled to the border and beyond. And she did too, shamefully so, vanishing into the night.

The Steppe had often been a refuge for the savage in troubled times, and now in her darkest hour, her hooves seemed to pick the road as the most natural thing in the world. Dark bay pelt was stained by battle, antlers tainted by the blood of the enemy, but it had done no good. As an army they had failed, they had been soft and vulnerable, and then the hornless had struck and taken advantage. Korra clenched her teeth aggressively; their morals had been poisoned, the warriors had slacked off and they had been punished. A sour smirk crept upon her scarred lips, knowing that the likes of Lotus had not fought, and thus proven to Korra that she and her child-bearing ways had been utterly useless. Let us see how useful her bastard spawn will be now.

It was dawn. The dawn of a new reality. She had travelled with the others there; the savage needed some peace and quiet, some time away from the miserable faces of defeat that looked back at her wherever she turned. So she had wandered into the woods whenever it had been possible, alone with nothing but the crunching sound as her hooves pressed into the snow that covered the ground. But when her pale king spoke, she was there as well, at the outskirts with her lobes perked forward. His words of vengeance warmed her heart; all in due time, they would return with strength tenfold and smite the usurpers. When the mare Alan spoke, Korra snorted in disgust, not caring if the other heard; there was definitely more muscle than brain to that one. You needed both to be a fullborn warrior, raw power would only get you so far. Another witless wench spoke up in agreement and the savage, shaggier than ever now that she was clad in her winter clothes, limped closer and bared her teeth at Leyra, snapping at the air next to the mare’s neck. “You know nothing of what you speak, wench. Not a single drop of blood have you sacrificed for this cause, so shut your mouth or I will do it for you,” she spat in her hoarse voice, face showing every last bit of the disgust she held for the appaloosa female.

The black silhouette of Ulrik came limping in, and Korra felt her jaw stiffen. She was disappointed in him, but she would not say it; he had been knocked out by the same dragonwhore that he was now scolding. There is nothing to him but hot air, she thought to herself. Of course everyone could be unfortunate, but there was no room for that in battle. An old unicorn approached next, scrutinizing them with cold eyes, causing Korra to point her ears back and return the gesture with one of her infamous spine-chilling glares. Despite his age, his coat was unscarred, not something that spoke in favor of his character in the savage’s blunt eyes. This one cannot be trusted. Her gaze drifted to the mare Lena, who had won a great deal of respect from the seasoned savage; despite her cheerful demeanor, the femme had proven herself. Nothing like exercising a bit of violence to gain esteem in Korra’s book. Turning her attention back to her leader, the wildling stood quiet and reflected on how the world had collapsed into complete turmoil in the matter of a single night. This was but one battle and the war was far from over. Let them get drunk on their victory. Let them celebrate. They will never know what hit them.