The would-be bird was an eye-full, as she danced the prelude to the battle they were about to compose. His dark gaze hungrily took in the contours of her frame - a build not so distant from his own, yet painted much more brightly. Her colouring made his few markings look merely like finger paint, and done poorly at that. For some reason he thought she might taste sweet, if his lips ever locked onto her skin. Likely this was just his mind responding to the suggestiveness of her colourful appearance, but that did not prevent drool to begin to pool in his mouth.
The thought of tearing those feather-stalks from her withers - to see if they resembled hair or true feathers, was just as enticing. Of course he meant no real harm to the would-be bird, but she had agreed to this dance knowing that it was not in his nature to 'go easy', as they say. Besides, the warrior wanted a true spar, not just some game of cat and mouse. Were he to go easy on her, he would be cheating them both, for within her rouge breast, a warrior's heart beat as well.

He noted with every step of her chocolate hooves, how fluid her movements were. Mentally, he stored this piece of information, strategically acknowledging that she would likely be faster on the ground than he. Even so, that speed would surely come at a price. Even were she able to collide with his flesh, he wondered how hard of a punch she would pack. Although ... there could easily be magic, hidden beneath that rainbow hide.

As she began to move around the crimson pool currently separating the two, Gaucho's muscles began to coil beneath his dun coat. There was little time for thought, given the shrinking distance between the two - but as we all know, Gaucho has never been much of a thinker. The primitive cogs of his brain churned just fast enough to devise a plan. The thick muscles of his hindquarters and thighs tightened as he lunged forward. Black wings spread easily from his sides, and rose to nearly touch behind his back. His forelegs stretched before him, pulling the dun closer to the hybrid beauty, before neatly curling to his chest, as his hind legs in tandem with his wings, kicked off from the supple mossy earth. Normally, one stride would not be nearly enough to send the stallion over top the tall girl, but his flight was not aided merely by muscle: As his wings clapped downwards, an arc of fire shot from the already smouldering flame-tipped feathers. The heat released from the blast was caught by his open wings, lifting him high enough into the air to clear the would-be bird. Meanwhile below, his flames raced forward with a radius of 30ft. His intent was not simply to avoid her charge, but also to demonstrate her foolishness. They were creatures of the air - and perhaps just as obviously, Gaucho was also a creature of fire. Flames burned from his shoulders to his wingtips, and around his hooves. Although she likely could not sense that the fire was heatless from her position across the pool, surely she did not think it was simply for show? Well. She would soon learn the error of misreading such an obvious obstacle. Although the WildFire was unsure if the rainbow-warrior would be able to recalculate her current trajectory to avoid the flames, he doubted it. Perhaps she would jump in the pool to mitigate any burns she received. He would like to see that.

Grinning at the thought of the bird soaking wet, Gaucho angled his body downwards, to complete what would have looked like an extended fire-aided glide. His dark flame-soaked hooves slammed into the soft moss, pounding it down, but not igniting it. His hindquarters swung around easily, so that his stormy gaze could search out what had become of his opponent. In his antlers, Mara glided down his thick neck to a small button on the leather collar that sat on his blue-striped shoulders. With a pleasant hiss, she compressed the device, causing sharpened spikes of bone to protrude 2 inches. Pulling herself back up to her perch, Mara's black eyes began to seek out the peacock. The snake was slightly disappointed that the bird hadn't brought a friend for her to play with. Mara always preferred to have her own target, rather than to target Gaucho's.


"Gaucho over here." He called mockingly, although his deep voice held no malice. He only meant to instigate the bird into further action. Although if she took offense, that could lead her to make a mistake - one that the WildFire would surely point out.