"Birds." Dominus' voice echoes in her mind, a great rumble to rouse her from her slumber. She blinks up at him, unsure why he sounds so concerned about birds. "BIRDS!" Suddenly he's gone from her side - suddenly, there's the hiss of savage wings and the scream of a child.

Her child. Their child. She screams like a trapped animal, and Nyx feels the warm splash of blood as it squirts from the girl's face and lashes against her side. Terror grips her and she tries to rise but can't - all she sees are devil's wings and the great, looming tower of the sire.

Dominus roars. He might be small, stunted for his species, but his roar shakes the ground and bids the branches of the great tree to quiver. His thickset hindlegs crouch and he lunges, claws unfurling like broken promises from the sheaths in his paws, seeking the harpy's face, wings, anything to get it away from the filly it is killing.

There's a hoof, a massive, feathered hoof pressing down on Enyo, and Nyx bellows her fury, her fear. He's killing them, he's killing them! That small, dissenting murmur in the back of her mind that points out how much easier life would be without them is smothered by the mother fucking bear instinct that lends women the strength to move trees from their newborns, kill bears, swim oceans. "Don't you fucking dare," she howls, howls like the wolf with murdered cubs, and she would give anything, anything to be able to move from her prone place upon the ground, but her limbs won't work. They betray her, as her body betrayed her when it drove her to spread her thighs for the length of him.

She looks at him, hateful. Those muscles which had so turned her on are suddenly threats that need to be neutralised; those haunting grey eyes that had drawn her like a moth to an open flame are suddenly windows to the black soul of the devil. A man who could kill his own children, his own flesh and blood; Nyx has seen and screwed beasts, vampires and murderers in her time, but this is truly abhorrent. This turns her stomach, twists her gut with disgust.

There's another eagle, this one attacking the leg that presses. The broken soldier feels magic bubbling up inside her, because that's the only thing she can control, the only thing she has the strength to use; it presses against her skin, begging for release, and it is almost free when the demon suddenly pauses.

She doesn't know why he has hesitated, but she fears that should she use her magic as her body is telling her to, it will rekindle his anger. Reluctantly, she sucks her powers back inside, and looks at him through hateful eyes. "They are yours. You, and your....sperm. What sort of a man are you if you would slaughter defenceless children? Your own children? You were a foal too, once - I don't think you spewed from the womb as a fully-grown big-dicked heathen, although I stand to be corrected." She spits the words, she hates them, because the soldier never begs and that is what she's on the verge of doing - pleading for their lives. If she was able-bodied, if she hadn't just birthed twins after surviving a torrid pregnancy in the depths of Frostfall, she'd fight him to the death. As it is, her strength is gone, her life almost with it; she cannot fight, and yet she cannot let them die.

Her helplessness makes her ache with hatred.