Winter winds carried whispers, tongues both foreign and known, which breathed their secrets and carried the scents of their homes and owners. These are more than just the usual wintertime gusts, they are the gales of a snow storm. Memories of her time in The Basin, both painful and pleasant, are brought to the foremost in her mind. It would be a lie if the silver doe claimed that she did not miss the frozen tundra that had been her home for so many years. The day she’d moved to The Edge, however, marked the beginning of her family life, worship of a new deity and the light of promising dawns.

Trudging forward, yes positively trudging, through the snow she has yet to notice the figure in the distance. The doe’s efforts are focused on resisting against the wind that blasted her from behind, it’s strength threatening to blow her away. Meanwhile her thoughts are turned towards the warm home Tilney had made for them, longing for both him and their family burned across her chest. The silver doe is not built for weather such as this. The freezing climates of the north she had endured for years but battering her way through a snow storm was proving rather difficult. Additionally Arah was worried about concealed holes undisclosed beneath the snow, sure to make quick work of snapping a delicate ankle. With each step she remains oblivious to the lurking threat of violence.

Wynter, ever her vigilant guard, had spied him through the flurry. She had seen the shadows that moved around their surroundings, felt the gaze from between the snowflakes and saw him approaching the flat makeshift arena that (or so the griffin believed) would soon be stained red. Sharper hearing than the doe’s picked up the sound of other creatures in flight above them. At first she tries to make her bonded see what she had but Arah is slow on the uptake, still battling her way carefully through the storm. Crawling her way up the doe’s back the griffin coos at her mistress, altering the mare’s gaze towards the lurking figure.

The moment Arah’s golden eyes turn towards the figure all logical thoughts escape her. Only images flash through her mind, how she had attempted to fight for her freedom and he had crushed her. Asch and Arwen, their sweet, young and innocent faces painted thick with fear. Any other opponent and she would have acknowledged that fighting such a beast was a useless task - she was sure to loose. Today and this creature however, they were different. Logic played no role in her decision to change her course and begin charing towards the figure. It was instinct to avenge her daughters and protect her family’s future that encouraged and steadied her hooves.

“TYRADON!” Her voice is ripped away from her mouth by the winds, hurtling towards the huge beast like a bullet fired from a gun. Wynter spreads her wings wide and leaps from the doe’s back into the air, allowing the strong wind to propel her, the griffin’s normal speed becoming greatly increased. “IT’S YOUR FAULT!” This may have been a stretch, yet it was his and that other wretches’ face that sill haunted her nightmares. “How could you? They were innocent children.” Despite the rage her voice trembled, the pain of loosing one’s children never stops being felt, it demanded attention constantly. Reaching the level ground she approaches the beast’s left side, her head bending, antlers aimed towards the brute’s shoulder. The barbs on her antlers will rip through his flesh and muscles, tearing tissue away from bone. She wants to impale him on her antlers, wear torn strips of his dark flesh as a gruesome trophy for the entire world to see. Arah carefully navigates the terrain while maintaining her speed, she’s aware of her slippery it can be so the doe is sure to dig her hooves into the soil under the snow, giving her a more secure her footing.

Her breaths are ragged, her rage untamed.

Above Wynter screams a challenge to the two dragons, she is larger than one and of a similar size to the other. The griffin is ardently willing to take them both, distract them from Arah who would have enough trouble managing the brute by herself. Talons and beak poised she swoops towards the larger golden dragon, aiming for it’s neck with her talons and eyes with her beak. If she manages to take out the larger dragon their odds will be slightly better than their current state.

Below her Arah screams in fury, preparing for battle.

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Arah charges towards Volterra's left shoulder intending to puncture his flesh and muscle with her antlers. Wynter swoops towards Vadir, aiming to pierce her eyes with her talons and peck at Vadir's eyes.

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