It all happens so quickly. It's on her way out, after that first exciting harvest is made, that she's set upon by a cloud of hollering blue-jays. They snatch her leaf so fast that all she can see once it's ripped from her mouth is a far off bird butt (leaf hanging from his mouth) and then, as if to summarize, the tree's booming voice adds to the chaos. As the tree briefly explains the scenario begins to unfold, right on cue, the animals turn on the group of equines. Everyone scrambles, this chief badger lays his commands and it's one group against another. Her leaf is gone, the others are robbed as well – they're taken by complete and utter surprise. Macaria has been faced with much worse in the name of magic in her short life, a banshee to be exact, so a band of angry critters against all of them doesn't feel all that dismal when she takes a second to think about it.

The heat from the pale stallion's fiery trees licks at her white plumed tail (she snaps out of deep thought) and she coils it tightly against her hip before spinning around to take her position somewhere between the dark unicorn [Erebos] and his controlling magic and the winged woman flinging sticks [Lyanna]. She bristles her coat and straightens her posture, standing at her full height. Her dapples ignite and the fire-flecks spread madly across her coat. They snap and crack, sizzling and spiraling to rest and eventually die in the leaves at her feet. Her tail unfurls to whip wildly behind her, the pearly white hairs of it's long haired tip tapping off the ground every few swats. She steps forward to avoid burning her neighbors, pointing her glimmering horn toward a snarling, snorting porcupine.

“Git!” She shouts this with all the authority she can muster – the youth in her shaky new voice is all too evident. It breaks with a little stress laced all through it, but she makes up for it with a few digs with her forefoot. This brand of pressure is new in her seedling of an adult life so far. She follows the closest critter's movements with the aim of her dandelion-yellow horn, it's frosty glaze catching the sunlight perfectly; as if to warn her potential opponents.

Normally she is peaceful, a pacifist at all costs, and never would she harm a creature over what few nuts she's collected for this tree. For all she knows it could be some sort of trick. A trick to assault the woodland occupants for some other gain. She would not betray that to them though, to the hoarding 'thieves' rallying this way and that. She remains defensive, aggressive in body language, lunging and blowing loud snorts at the darting fur-balls.