”Psyche!” the call echoes off the mountains and into the valley. ”You have much to answer for with your blood!”

They had been stalking the night, the Dark Empress and her king. The summons rang on the dawn air, and the pair exchanged a look, a few hasty parting words, and then she was on her way to her borders. An errant, almost rueful thought entered the dark cranium, hidden behind cold amber orbs: I wish there were a way to keep those filthy skyrats out. Unfortunately, it would seem that only brute force would be able to accomplish that.

Her mood, so uncharacteristically cheerful only moments before, had soured drastically in the minutes since the challenge. Who was this feather-brain to demand her presence, to call for her blood? Who did she think she was, to come traipsing into the Lady’s territory as though there would be no consequences, no repercussions? As she neared the pass that led to the Steppe, her blood began to boil, fury coursing through her veins.

The Resolute had courage, it would seem. Of course, to enter the northern lands, on the opposite end of the world from the nice, warm desert, was brave in and of itself, but to come with the understanding that a fight would ensue on the opponent’s turf – well, that was simply bordering on stupidity. To be honest, the jackal couldn’t really hold Kri’s presence against her. After all, it was the Basin that had broken the uneasy neutrality between the herds - hell, Psyche herself had encouraged her followers to go after at least one of the Throat’s members (though it was only to be expected, really, after he deserted their cause so dramatically). But the fact that Kri had actually expected the shade to honor their agreement only spoke more of her lacking intelligence.

These realizations only added fuel to the fire as Psyche came to a halt before her challenger, leaving several yards between them. She held her weight evenly balanced, prepared to leap into combat at any moment, knowing that even if she had the desire to avoid this particular battle (which she most certainly did not), that it was inevitable. ”Why, Kri, darling, what a pleasant surprise!” she greeted the smaller mare in a tone that suggested that it was anything but. ”As much as I hate to disappoint you, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Who is it that calls for my blood this time?” A cascading laugh fell from her lips like poison. ”But let’s simply skip the arguing, shall we? After all, you will simply call me a liar, I will deny it, and it will be positively droll. If it is blood you want, then it is blood you will get.” By the end, her voice had dropped to a hiss, a cold, malicious glint in her eyes.

The morning was just barely beginning to show on the eastern horizon; had the shade waited any longer, she would have been blinded by the sun’s light. Muscles bunched and then she lunged, a tense coil contracting upon itself only to spring violently free. She tucked her cranium, her maw almost touching her chest as she attempted to dart to Kri’s left, aiming her crooked, lethal horn for the mare’s left wing near the shoulder. With any luck, it would stab through muscles and tendons, and she could toss her head free, ripping blood and skin and flesh with it. It would be oh-so-much easier to win this battle if the skyrat couldn’t fly. There was something demonic in the jackal’s orbs now, and she realized that she was smiling.

"Talk talk talk."

[W/C | 622]
[1/4 Attack] [0/2 magic]
[Attack: Lunged towards Kri’s left wing, aiming for the muscles that attach it to the shoulder, hoping to disable the wing.]
[Defense: None.]