Warmth bursts upon his golden spine like blooming sunflowers, turning their dark faces to the source in silent praise as it gifts them with a feeling that has been absent since Helovia was benighted so suddenly, so devastatingly. Every morn it rises, and in perennial mimicry Kaj woke to greet it, ever astonished to view the ascent of the golden orb into the sky reflected in his eyes. They shook the ice off their limbs and arose from their hibernation worn, weary, and broken. He does not embrace this weakness. He is the thunder before the strike, the roar before the clash of teeth and impalement of claws, and he does not falter. When his kin had been targeted, bleeding for their home, he had been unchallenged. It is an anger that still trembles and roils in his gut, uncaring of the passage of time. They had expatriated the invaders and proven their durability. Like the tides they were unstoppable. They were ostensibly unbreakable, and yet there was a weakness within, an infection, a plague, that spread throughout their very core. Brother turned on brother, knives stabbed into the backs of loved ones by those who had once been trusted. There was nothing more extreme that could possibly turn him from higher meaning to primality.

A hawk, he scans the skies, massive and heavy despite the agility he keeps in the air. The currents are gentle, stretching his muscles with the work necessary to keep himself aloft. Today the Lords of heaven and high-tide, water and wildlife, heat and hope, time and static energy...they call upon him, inspire ardor in a body housed for it, promulgate that he shall fight today. Like silver lining it tugs him onward into the late hour of the dawn, sunlight spilling across his canvas and warming him, charging him with the energy he will need as he approaches the guardian they have assigned him to.

It is still brisk from the chill of the sunless Birdsong past, pressing at his breast as he cuts through it against the whims of the wanton breeze. Even so the sun is fierce in his own exhilaration to be back, to be alive and worshiped, and he fights it steadily with every increment he rises into the horizon. The land is convoluted beneath his gaze as he twines over it like a serpent, bypassing scenery he would normally have enjoyed thoroughly. Azures flit over every crevice, uncaring of the beauty of what he sees, and at last he sees his opponent. Sees her.

Similarly the golden glow encompasses the dame he must cross swords with. She glows navy in the early luminescence that grants him unrestricted view, and all he feels is a plunge in his stomach and he knows. Briefly he feels sick, when he sees how small and frail she is in comparison to his own massive, disruptive build, but the fire swells inside and he is gone again. He does not call to her in challenge, does not make her aware, merely folds his wings like a fear-stricken aerial varmint, and lets his large mass drop him like a stone arrow towards the lass whom he has just caught in his sights. If she is moving up into the sky to meet him or flees upon the ground, it will matter only when it happens. He hopes to use his weight to smash against her, should she be rising to the sky, and intimidate her should she not. Fear is a strong emotion. Only as he nears the earth below does he begin to parachute his wings, massive hooves aimed for her body as he grits his teeth and prepares for impact- either with her body, or the ground, for which he is prepared to take the shock and run with it before returning to the sky, where he belongs.

The speed of his downfall whips his forelock across his eyes, and he winces, eyes squinting against the stinging pain. It is not something he can control, it is a horrible blindspot and his eyes hurt, but he keeps them trained upon the lithe figure beneath him. She can outrun and outpace him both on the earth and in the air, he can only hope his weight and power will counter that and push him through the fight to the end; regardless of the outcome.

The red string of fate ties them together, and it shall be tainted further carmine with the blood they will shed in this battle.

---

Word Count;; 755
Post;; 1/4 Attack

Strength: 8.0
Speed: 4.0
Agility: 7.0
Endurance: 3.0
HP: 44.0

Defense: 7.0
Attack: 4.5
Damage: 7.5

@[Cirrus]

I'm pretty much guaranteed to lose with my stats and experience, but I'll try and make it fun for you Whit