The bellow shook the earth, sending the birds scattering from their roosts to be enveloped by the azure expanse of the sky. Tilting her head back, Orithia watched the wind's children disintegrate into the eggshell oblivion, her lips curling ever so slightly. A challenge had been issued, a call to test her worth; but what this King of Elephants did not realize was that a test to her worth meant nothing. 

She was worth nothing.

Her body was merely a case, a conduit through which hatred and fury reigned supreme. There was nothing left within the mare that held anything of value. Kindness had no place in her heart, the ivory woman would sooner strangle someone with the same hand she had fed them with. She had learned quickly that it was better to create ghosts than to mourn those that had turned to such; for the jaws of ghosts are far more fragile than the bite of grief. 

The cruel grin spread wider over her coral lips as she moved toward the sound and scent of that which stood as her sovereign. Her pulse quickened in anticipation, of the coming battle, of the imminent wash of blood that would stain the earth, of the inescapable need for release. She increased her pace, weaving through the trunks with ease as her conscious slipped into a state of sublime focus.

At last, she descended the slope and came to stand before her behemoth patriarch, the scythe of his horn catching the light of that golden disk in the sky. Some may say that there was no honor in refusing to face an adversary head-on, but Orithia was not acting on whatever pitiful amount of honor still slithered through her veins; no, it was only her self destructive sense of pride that planted her frame in front of the colossal male. The smile still graced her lips as she gave a mocking bow, pastel eyes flicking up toward the gaze of Tembovu.

"Honored to oblige."

With a snap her wings were extended, primaries brushing against the gnarled trunks. In an instant, the mare shifted into a rear and kicked out viciously toward the massive stallion's chest with both front hooves. Orithia's mind began to catalog the possible outcomes of her actions, the potential reaction of the stallion that may cause her strike to miss. Narrowing her coral hued eyes, the mare bared her teeth and arched her neck as if to bite at Tembovu's neck, but the move was a farce - hopefully a successful one. 

Balance still placed upon her back legs, the banshee pivoted to the right, relaxing her left wing and arcing it toward where she believed her King's right shoulder would remain. There, upon the tan flesh that coated his muscle, she had spied what had looked like fresh scars. The weight of her body and the pull of gravity combined to create a tremendous amount of momentum; if her aim proved true and if Tembovu's old injury was worth its salt, the blow would be unforgiving.

In the best of scenarios, her hooves would find the earth once more and she would leap away to stand with her back against the rough bark of a tree; but alas, the worst of scenarios tend to hold more sway with the fates.