In a sense, it was terrifying to see that expression worn upon Delinne's body and face. The gleam of her eyes, the curve of her wicked smile — Mauja's own ears pressed themselves flat against his neck, his cold gaze unyielding even as it made him feel sick to see. Whatever was going on here, he wasn't going to back down. He wasn't going to let her get away with this. He'd defend Delinne's honor and integrity.

Anxiety became confidence. Distress became calm. And after a fashion, insanity came to be. He breathed in, even as she spat and hissed in his face, and when he breathed out, he forced each doubt out of his mind. He would not stop to consider the consequences if this truly was Delinne, for it couldn't be — this monster couldn't be within her. He chose to trust his nose, and the one thing he knew how to do: fight.

Mauja's eyes went colder, stonier, and despite the way her blue gaze bore into his he refused to flinch or break away. They stood so close now that he could feel her hot breath against his muzzle, taste the wrongness of it, but he did not lean back. He would not give this witch the satisfaction, nor would he listen to the quiet voice under his heart's hardened crust, the voice that whispered wait... No; he'd follow the pounding of his heart, the slowly stirring anger. Her horn quivered slightly left of his, moved by the subtle rhythm of her body. He knew that its tip was black.

On rapid wings the other half of his soul approached, riding the winds. Perhaps she would help, perhaps not. Only time would tell.

Delinne's words became meaningless, nothing but shifts in the air current washing against his muzzle. Words could not hurt you. Words could not make you bleed. Soon, he told himself, soothing the angry beast inside. His breathing remained even, his focus on her eyes; he might not hear her, but he could see her, and the hate flaring from her blue gaze was hot enough to scorch the soul — if you would let it. Mauja had frozen over, his pounding heart counting down the time. Adrenaline made him feel light-headed, anticipation churned in his gut, but despite the desire to tremble with excitement he held still. Not even the rhythm of his breathing changed as the strengthening blood rage battled his calm.

Then he flicked the switch.

Fury flooded him, a burning, itching desire to cause harm; darkness swelled in his veins, suffocating the last whispers of doubt in his heart as he sprang into rapid motion. He tossed his head down and left, as if to jab her face, before driving straight forward. His hind hooves pushed off the solid, rocky bank, the tip of his horn aiming for where her left shoulder met the neck. He'd never wanted her eye, her face — he'd always hunted something warmer, something to slake the thirst which had erupted in his mind. And idly he wondered, would he feel the thrum of her life, with his horn embedded in her heart?

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Mauja Frosthjärta