Bellona
To win the war, but flee the battle, is one of the Gods' greatest sins.

The winged mare's body spins at the sound of cracking branches, sending thick tendrils of mane and feathers flying in all directions at her sudden movement. Her hinds do not tremble when she pushes the whole of her body weight down on them, nor do her dark, earthen hooves slip as she pivots in the damp snow. Her movements are fluid and her form is picturesque when she moves to confront the creature that has crept up on her, and without warning the white-painted beast lashes out with both of her forelegs. Each tall pillar rakes the air before the unfamiliar stallion and slam into the ground, causing the snow to lift and stir at the contact.

As much as the warrior would have liked, the predator that has approached is no threa -- it is just some silly stallion spitting out foreign words at her. An outraged bellow erupts from the vixen's throat, and she pins her ears at the striped boy, her own teeth bared at the sight of him. She may lack the canines that this beast possessed, but the fiery spirit reflected by her eyes must be warning enough for the lost boy. She is poised to strike -- her powerful wings are stretched out to their full extent and her feathers stand erect on her withers -- and she is more than capable of holding her own in a brawl; all that it will take for her to unleash her fury is for the brute to take one misguided step.

At his words, the goddess violently flicks her head upwards, causing her eyes to slightly roll and reveal their whites. "And just what the hell is a peacock?" Her vindictive tone is rusty from the lack of use, but the bile that drips off of every word is not tainted by it.

The colorful bird molests the cat with her harsh gaze, trying to discern whether or not he is even worth her time. Her yellow eyes wash over his striped architecture like a cleansing flame, burning away anything that one would see at the surface to better inspect what lay inside. Behind the thick coat of fur, and behind even the mass of muscle and bone, there is the dull throb of a heart. If only she were able to probe deep inside of it and learn of each wish and intent that resided there.

Equine -- and avian -- muscles bunch up to prepare for launch as soon as the orange stallion stumbles forwards, but he is soon incapacitated by nature herself. A deafening snort sounds from the pegasus' quivering naves and she slaps her long tail against the ground disapprovingly. He was a fool for coming here.

"I do not give out my name as easily as you do, stag, nor do I tremble in the presence of a cuauhtli," a dark frown etches itself upon her blue visage. "I do not know why the sky is black. This land is not my home -- how am I to know of its ways?" She is disgusted at the sight of him -- sprawled out at her feet, like a beaten servant -- and yet she chooses to remain in his presence. She had told him herself that she was a foreigner to this world, but perhaps he was not. It wouldn't hurt to get a bit of information out of him before having his blood run down her throat.

Drawing in her wings to her maroon sides, the vixen moves backwards to allow him some room to right himself. The array of feathers growing on her back remain in the air, like defiant flags against a battle-lit sky, and they sway in the chilling breeze that drags by. Her coat, although beautiful, was not meant to sustain itself in harsh winter climates, and a small shiver ripples through her body. She does not allow the unfavorable conditions of the season to batter at her defenses, however, so she minimizes the gap between her ribs and her wings and, with a sigh, demands, "You are from here, yes? Then you can tell me where it is that I am." A flick of her feathers, almost like a subtle tick that she has picked up over the years, and then, "It is useless to play games with me, Tingal. I lack the compassion that is evident in your eyes, and I will not play fair if you are thinking of starting anything."

"Talk talk talk."
{OOC: cuauhtli -- warrior}