It began on the same day the woman met a buckskin kid with a mouth like a box of knives and a son of Hades with a taste for Pegasi flesh. Poison drenches her blood and - she's gone psychotic and there's maggot rumps grotesque backside and smoke and flames that sugarcoat her in equine filth and she's going to catch a disease, next thing she knows there's air beneath lead wings and she's lifting off and then there's burnt and maggot face below her.
And so she seethes beneath boiling sinew and well-defined muscle, there's blood splattered on her maw and dried crumbs where it dribbled down her chin, she's been spewed upon by a rabid man with slobber foaming at his mouth - she's going to break him when she sees him again as such twigs beneath her cloven hooves. As if the bones of Olympus chortle with glee upon her battered leather and bruised bone (her back aches-) she is cast down unto her homeland with expectations gleaming with promise of a mercenaries welcome (although she did not go to war-) and the bitter scent of a stuck-up brat on her borders.
Idiots, she thinks. I'm beginning to like them less and less. The stick-head of her brother had at least the wits to shield her (as if the woman needed it-) and the land in which he stood upon. He had not trusted a delusive freckle-face with far too much smugness in her eye to be fit for the Princess (they were low as the ground beneath her hooves). If all of the wingless and hornless were as daft as that which had befallen her sights on this eve, Brighid could do no less than stare in stupification at the level of braindead in which her could be slaves had become (the ink crawls and writhes in her veins as the shadow of death itself).

And so, after the cadet had loomed with such daggers within her gaze that the woman had no choice but to leave her sights or be given a fine kick in that elephantine fanny she's lugging about behind her, she had turned cloven shoe and paraded away with the elegance of a drunken soldier (she has a limb sticking through her wing and don't ye forget it) towards where she assumes a medic shall await her cause (because the entire world swings to the beat of her hooves). She does not await to see if her little brother has followed suit, and if the stic - Apollo wished, the daughter of Inanna the Great would not deny his companionship (that is not to say she would take it into consideration either). Regardless of fellow brethren and sociable causes, the Princess did come back to this landscape with the intentions of stitching up bruised flesh and taking out a twig from between her almighty feathers - don't argue, we all know they're idols to be worshipped - and merrily rat out two rats with maggots festering in their bones.

She comes to a standstill in what she believes to be the center of activities in this shackless Kingdom, pernicious bronze shadowed with ire and illwill, although none aimed towards the dirt and trees and ground beneath her steady frame. No, the Princess is filled with disgust at the memories of mortal flesh touching her celestial brawn and the scent of sweat and arrogance the wafted from them both in waves.
At least the maggot-ridden one had been (rightfully so-) chickenhearted if but for a second in her presence.
That was good. He should have been.

Because she's going to aim for the brains next time. Isn't that how to kill the walking dead? For the slightest hint of a moment there is a lull, a peace in which to absorb.
And then there is a bellowing roar akin to that of a dragonic and bear's childe rippling with (likely and yet not mandatory-) pain to audits of all shapes and sizes. If there are any foal's resting within the warmth of a mother's milk-filled stomach, they do not rest so easily now, most certainly, for the goliath has come.
"I SEEK A DOCTOR FOR MY REPAIRMENT KINSMAN." A slap of tail on flesh as whiplike tendrils smack against her sculpted hindquarters. "IT IS LIKELY I HAVE SUSTAINED DAMAGE TO MY HULL."

Then there is silence. Blessed silence as the Princess queries her mind as to if she left the little brother without a farewell charm to remember the soldier by. Was it not common courtesy to exchange goodbye's before one took off as a trainwreck within the sea of biological creations?
No matter to her (I plea he doesn't take offense. Politics are simply not my game).

And she waits.