The finding of the goliath demon had been equal parts luck and intelligence. She had known he fought, regularly by his efficiency and his scars, and with pleasure as he had so easily swelled with pride after their battle. Disapproval struck through her brain; though there had been plenty (too many) Akvian soldiers that had reveled in cavalier victory, she had been taught by her father otherwise. Fighting was as much art as it was technique. The victorious could forever improve, so why were they boasting? Braggadocio swayed the memories, made oneself seem better and highlighted the shortcomings of the opponent. But the opponent had strengths as well, defeated or not. And one should learn them, to improve oneself.

But, alas, such battle-heavy thoughts were dashed from her mind as her hooves began to strike hard, hot black rock. Her ears swing forward, gait pausing as she looked up with unblinking eyes to the monolith of a man that she followed. He was large, and the skull he fought with had marked him easily as the sounds of battle she had searched for.

And now, for better or for worse, she was following him to these gods. She had sworn not to trust gods again, after Vjanta had brought such ruin and misery on her people. But here she was, following the training-hardened hind end of Volterra. Only a blind woman would miss them— and she was not blind; she was a warrior. So she appreciated the battle-honed physique of the earth-bound equine that led her. Though she could not stop the occasional twitch of her ridged skull as she caught the flash of dragon wings in her periphery during their long journey.

Her legs were more accustomed to land-walking, now, however. Much to her chagrin. What was she doing? Her eyes sharpened on the rocks, part of her had reconciled the permanent loss of her people.

But a she was a fighter to her core. She had been raised by the blade of Akvian horns and the sting of their poison. She was proud. She was fierce. She was resilient. So there was a part of her, a part that swelled against the need for poison in her barbs. That was selfish. If the gods could bring the Isles to Helovia, if they could murder other gods, then couldn't they bring her people? Slowly, the small persistent spirit in her swelled. Who needed barbs when she could have her people here, safe?

“Are we close?” Her husky voice finally sounded after long moments of silence. But there was an undercurrent of excitement thrumming in the throaty noise, aqua eyes snapping up from the black rock to look at the black stallion.