A contemptuous snort was the only reply the black bitch was given, delivered along with a long, cold look from violet eyes. Ivories clamped down on the horn in her mouth, lips shifting and adjusting to the foreign shape and weight of it - was this why the Basiners were stupid enough to think they could take on an alliance of horses twice the size of themselves while splitting their own forces? Because their horns were so heavy that all sense were squeezed out of the brains? It seemed quite the plausible theory, and almost as an afterthought she pondered whether this meant that all horn bearing creatures were generally dumb. The theory had holes, granted. Hector had two quite massive ones, and he was intelligent enough for her...

"Don't let your stupidity shine through like that" she sneered at the black mutt as she noticed how it remained on the same spot, eyes greedily following the horn. "Look around you, groundling. Your forces are being pushed back, you've lost your horn, I kicked you in the head. You've lost, nameless bitch, and this is my prize for letting you live."

It was amazing how much her confidence was growing. Even though blood dripped from the cut under her chest, even though the leg felt like a pillar of all consuming flame pounded by continuous hammers she didn't hesitate to press forward, wings spread threateningly as she made a second lash towards the intruder - this time with the horn, using it as a makeshift dagger to extend the reach. What an irony indeed if it would hit its mark and draw blood - to be cut by your own weapon would be the ultimate shame for any fighter, and certainly it would be mortifying for someone so full of herself as this shapeshifter.

"This is your last warning; leave or die!" The exclamation was followed by a quick rear, more unbalanced than it looked for the pain in the rear leg but sufficient in bringing her forward in a leap, hard black front feet aiming to smack down on the head or back of the mutt, to crush bone and break pride. Did the shade know who she was making an enemy of? Most certainly not, or she might have been more careful. Maybe. It was hard to tell now, as the taste of victory enveloped the mind of the crow and made her feel strong, condifent - invincible.