They come crawling to her, creeping, scrabbling, etching their way across the earth to hover at her side in this moment of weakness. Their madness, a selfish greed that whines out like a grinding, dying machine when they speak, drives a spike of hatred into the carefully concealed cracks of her heart. The sun began to set and the day grew long in its final stand, the shadows stretching wide and eager. One remained by then, slinking through the dusk, his want making him rabid; a wonder his mouth didn't froth and instead was stained green.

He spoke.
She crackles, wings bristling against her backside, a swath of grass erupting in a wash of sparks from around her hooves. Her head thrashes to the side so she can set her sights on him, the flash of blue like the glint of a sword being unsheathed, its metallic whisper a deadly croon in the hushed moment of anticipation.

She regards him in steady silence, but like a gathering storm the absence of noise is far more terrible than the sound of it. A soft line parts the plush of her black lips. Her whiskers twitch. Her nose flares, but the breath is steady, the panic subsiding in her chest. She has an enemy she can face now, an enemy she is not afraid of, an enemy she can defeat.
Her maw twists into a feral grin, the jagged marking that frames her left eye stretching with the motion, a clear indication of her chaotic nature with its asymmetrical balance.

"This?" she asks innocently, almost playfully even, except for the possessive manner in which she passes her body in front of the glowing orb, the pile of debris she'd thrown on top of it unable to shield the pulse of life. "No," her voice cuts through, hard and cold now, the first swing of the hungry sword. "This belongs to no one."

Her final words are accentuated by an abrupt flaring of her wings, the feathered appendages beginning to flap furiously while Oxy neighs and roots around like an overgrown boar, bearing horns instead of tusks and a ball sack not nearly as impressive. She hopes her wind will stir up debris to cast into his eyes, which she hopes will already be squinting with the amber glow of the sinking sun at her back. The distraction ideally will blind him for a moment, and a moment is all she needs.

Ampere shoves off her coiled haunches, easily sliding into a canter, her hooves beating out the steady tempo noiselessly against the grass. As she runs her hooves strike the foliage like a flint, the green blades curling up in a blue zap that gathers like a rising tide in her wake. She leans into her motion, her neck falling low and flat, her small stature feeding her speed, something she knows she'll have to depend upon - one hit from the boar-horse and she could be done in.
Best not to be hit then.

Her mad dash aimed her at Oxy's left side, head-on. With each stride the light glinted off his set of horns, caution roiling in her gut and singing in her thoughts with the faded voice of her last fellowship. For all the swings that Ampere took, few were measured and less were without consequence. Would she gouge herself open on this beast's misshapen teeth, for a creature cradled in a shell not made by her own body, her own flesh, her own blood?
Yes her resolve responds, unshaken. She would.
It's not for the life that she charges, a war cry bellowing from her chest like a frenzied bird, it's for the freedom to live.

She comes in, screaming like hot metal on a ruined train track, her body twisting around his left side as she leaps upward. Her wings plow at the air around her and him, seeking to give her added lift, perhaps striking his head, hopefully batting away his tusks should he have the sense to wield them. The electrical tide behind her, nothing so impressive as the sea, should come spilling in and burst upon him, breaking with a snap, crack, fizzle and pop!
Meanwhile she is beginning to fall, her theatrical movement nothing but drama and poor planning. She strikes out weakly with her hind feet, aiming to catch his back and use it as a launching pad, maybe scuffing in a bruise or two. Her wings strike the air again, once, twice, flailing for balance as her front hooves reach for the uneven ground on his right side.

He is the ocean, I am the shore.

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A: 1/4
D: 0/1
W: 797/800