Bellona
To win the war, but flee the battle, is one of the Gods' greatest sins.

Pale orange pools start to run dry from the closeness of the flame, and the peahen is pulled from her vivid memories as the brute's magic closes in on her. The warrior's legs do not find their target and instead churn the air in front of her, and the giant of a stallion has managed to fly over her feathered weapons. Disgusted with her failure, anger begins to coat the walls of her architecture like an ugly paint, but there is no time to reprimand herself. Where the black-laced warrior had just been, an explosion of flame is starting to erupt. The heat from the attack licks at her falling hooves before she can react. The bird thrusts her wings downwards in desperation, but she is too slow. A hot burst of wind sends her green locks flying in all directions, stinging her dry eyes as they slap against her face. The peahen has managed to get her front end above the blaze, but her hind legs do not make it to safety. Her legs blister and her striped hide cracks as the fire delivers its devilish kiss; her abdomen is not exempt from such affection, and the red of her belly glistens at the touch of the flame. A scream tears free from the maiden's lungs and her involuntarily cry of pain is followed by one of murder.

She is on fire, a flying torch, and her insides burn as hotly with outrage as her outsides do with unbearable pain. Her eyes are wild with equal parts hatred and fear, and finally the airborne creature finds a shade of red that she is happy to see.

The bird plummets towards the bloody pool like a comet, her tail ablaze and streaking behind her. Her burning hide is put out as soon as she is underneath the surface, and the sound of crisping flesh is muted as fluid fills her ears. Her back legs are able to function well enough to push the maiden upwards, but it takes everything she has not to gasp out before she breaks the surface. Now that she has put out the flames afflicting her hide, the flames in her heart burn brighter.

Dispelling the water from her naves with a snort, the singed feathers at her wither floating on the water, she pulls herself to shore. Her movements are stiff and laced with pain, and she uses her feathered members as paddles to lessen the strain on her limbs. When her forehooves dig into the mossy earth, the barbecued bird fans her wings at her side. Her hind end is still submerged, the cool liquid dulling the torture of her rear-most supports as she dries her instruments. Turning her stained head to locate the horned demon, she studies his figure, tracking his movements. She notes that he is a tall brute, but not a particularly lean one. His horned crown requires a thick neck to carry it, and his blue-streaked shoulders ripple with the muscles that are characteristic to those of the winged variety. If Bellona didn't loathe him for what he had done to her, she might have appreciated the stag a lot more.

His taunt does not fall upon deaf ears, and she snaps back at him, "Well, Bellona is over here!" But she is soon to join you.

Deeming her wings dry enough for flight, the vixen drags the rest of her body onto the mossy ground, where she is pleasantly surprised to find that her legs are handling her weight quite well. The beautiful lady is not as vain as one might think, and she does not pause to shed a tear over her blistered rump. Instead, she prepares to strike again, but this time she knows that her opponent is not all for show; looking at him now, she can see that almost every piece of him has some sort of weapon waiting to be revealed. She hadn’t even noticed the damned snake that was coiled around his horns.

The hybrid is careful to take flight this time; she puts most of her weight in her front legs when she abandons the earth to join with the sky. It takes more effort for the bird to fly with water-logged wings, but it is not impossible for her to do. She tries to get above the stag -- where she thinks she will be safe from another explosion – and angles her body so that if she chooses to fall, and if he remains relatively close to where he currently is, she will land on the golden boy. And fall she does, her hooves outstretched and aiming for those great big shoulders of his. Would the pink flesh of any future scars go well with the blue?


"Talk talk talk."


WC: 796 || Attack 2/4
Thank you for the tips, Aud. I even second-guessed myself about the whole bit about ignoring the flames. Thanks for being patient, and for all the excellent advice!