Perhaps the divines have heard his plea, and sent forth a behemoth to assist him. Perhaps they have taken pity upon him, perhaps the savior was placed upon this patch of land on purpose. Or perhaps the general was lucky, on this cursed night.
Perhaps it was none of those reasons.

Whatever the explanation for her arrival in this land, the Princess leans
against the side of a red oak, not far, yet not close to the fight that has taken place without her knowledge.
Was she asleep? No, the Princess was not asleep, not yet, though the exhaustion it has taken to come to this land has taken it's toll upon her - the Ink that poisons her blood like the kiss of Death has taken it's toll upon her. She is exhausted, drained, physically, and mentally, and so the Princess rests.
Or she was resting, until the screeches and screams reached her as the cries of battle. The shutter's of her lids raise, releasing the earthy depths of her pearls to the world. Sharp orbs that threaten that which may harm her, sharp orbs, as that of a bird of prey. An icy gaze, confusion tumbling around inside her mind as some helpless pup. A sleepy daze fills her, turns her visions to blurred shapes and blends the shadows together to create the hungry maws of demons, ready for fresh spilled blood. She beckons it forth, I'm ready - And she is, she is prepared to defend herself with tooth and hoof and flapping wings, she is prepared to fight the hunters that have come to take her skin as fresh-kill to lay upon a platter. Blood, the ink whispers, lust for death singing inside her cranium.
But when the Princesses vision comes into focus, a silence echoes inside her mind.
There is no hunter. She is not being hunted.
Yet the screeches continue, cries for blood that startle the night-dwelling creatures and send them forth into their holes. The Princess continues to gaze outward, yet has no intention to follow the cries. She does not seek a fight, she has come here to rest, to calm her rattled bones.

It is the God's amusement that she does not receive such a blessing.
In the milky glow of the moon, a scream for aid is received to her alert harks, dig's it's claws into her bones. She has no reason to answer it.
But it is akin to a child, battling nightmare's of devils and bloodied beings, reaching towards it's parent with chubby hands and fearful, wide pearls. Is it right to ignore it's begging for comfort, it's soft whisper for aid? Is it right to rip it from it, to allow it to be dragged down and pillaged by the demons?

The shadow moves from her place against the red oak, moves forward, grim expression upon her dome. She leaves the peaceful glade.
Was she even there, to begin with?

Time ticks on, passes.
"Please, call them off!"
She slows. She has arrived late to the dance.
Hooves thud against the hard ground, a looming shadow.
"What do you want from me, can't we work this out?!"
Luminescent feathers form a bed of downy warmth upon Gaea's back.
The colossus moves forwards. The moon behind her frame, the front of her bodice obscured in darkness. It hides her dome from clear sight,
but a scowl has touched her maw. Adrenaline surges sluggishly into her veins.
A half-rotted cub, a undead rodent. What has this world come to? She tries to think no more of them,
Brighid is a straight-forward woman, she has no urge to dwell on the spiritual.

The round, hard hoof of the Princess raises, then the other, her heavy ship lifts - wings snap out and upwards in a flurry of feathers and a bellowing sound escapes her maw. The shadow of the Princesses wingspan casts yet more darkness in it's wake, her hooves slam back down into the Earth and cause the smallest of tremors to pass through it's crust. They land hopefully near to the dark woman. Though she does not make a direct attack unto it's person, it is a threat, a warning. Leave him alone.
Hark's lay flat and get lost in the tangled mane upon her thick neck, she snaps at the undead cub, another harsh hoof beat into the Earth, as if it has caused this.
"Be gone."
This time, the deep baritone of her voice is verbal, a low growl rumbling from the depth's of her chest and extending out towards the mare. She isn't sure what has taken place here, but the woman has the crazed expression in her gaze of a rabid canine.
I'll put you out of your misery.

Dare she refuse the Princesses demand, and retaliate against her force?
Or shall she, too, fade into the haunted night?