As Gaucho's formidable hind-end swung around, he was graced with precisely the sight he had been longing to see: a rainbow on fire. He hadn't seen her rise above the flames, but he had heard the scream she emitted, which caused the dun to grin childishly. It delighted him to see the beautiful creature burn by his own doing. Not because he enjoyed seeing her in pain of course, but because he knew that she was a capable warrioress, despite her fancy dress. He knew the frustration, the anger - the humiliation - that cycled through her veins, and it was this appreciation that fueled his amusement. She was like him, from years gone by. Graceful, strong, but impatient. Her decision to rush at him, unaided by magic and flight when he would surely use both, was deserving of the charred, water-logged state that she has been reduced to.

His stormy gaze watched with a masculine interest, as her moss painted rump emerged from the water. The way her coat fused together under the heat of his flames almost made it appear shiny - plasticy perhaps - and the desire to see how it felt beneath his forelegs was like palpable bubble in his throat. His gaze fell to the pink of her belly, vivaciously shaped by toned muscle, and then to her striped legs, which now pulled her from the embrace of the waters. Gaucho grunted with an impatience fueled now more by lust, rather than anticipation of battle, as his stormy gaze sought out the sunset colours of her eyes. His nostrils flared, taking in her scent as well as her tantalizing appearance. She was like a cobra - or some similar predator - who used their appearance to distract their prey. Luckily for Gaucho, who did like fighting more than sex, her physical distraction only went so far. For now anyways.

As her muscles coiled beneath her dazzling coat indicating that she was dry enough to strike again, Gaucho's smirk of amusement widened. Had the rainbow bird not learned her lesson the last time? At least she would use her wings this time - but had she so quickly forgotten the flames that lingered on his wings? Little bird, if you play with fire, you'll wind up burned. Then again, perhaps she liked the pain. Something told him that were the Sun God able to see the way in which Gaucho now used the gifts given to him, he would be amused. The God was vain, and would likely scoff at the array of colours that the mare was painted with. Gaucho was sure the God would be amused by her charred hide as well.

Shifting his weight, Gaucho began to move forwards. Sensing the plan budding in her bonded's mind, Mara hissed with laughter, as she delicately bit the tip of Gaucho's black ear. A single bead of blood emerged, hardly visible beneath the dark hairs, but it was enough to stir the magic within his veins. From his antlers, smoke began to pour, igniting once it was about a foot from his rack. The flames began to grow, and finally separate into two massive winged forms. The creatures appeared like giant eagles - nearly the size of a horse, each. Their flaming wings beat and rose above Gaucho, moving in tandem towards Bellona's figure. One aimed for her belly - as she appeared to be aimed as if to strike from above on Gaucho. The other lingered back, defensively blocking the path to Gaucho - who was casually cantering forward and away from the trio of birds.

Mara watched, unsure what the mare would do. Likely she would not fly into the flaming eagles, lest she risk burning herself again. Though, even if she did, she would find only moss beneath her.

"Why over there?" He called teasingly, as he arrived at the spot where she had pulled herself from the pool. Snorting, he dipped his head, Gaucho plucked one of her fallen feathers from the water. His dark lips wrapped around it, as he tossed his antlered skull. The feather tasted just as you would suspect - although maybe a little more smokey given it's firey expulsion from her wither. It was not sweet as he had originally supposed, but that did not mean that the rest of her wasn't. Opening his flaming-tipped wings, Gaucho danced in place next to the pool. This game was getting old. His magic had placed him at a serious advantage, but had succeeded in draining the fun out of the spar. They say the fun is in the chase, but there can be no chase between a rabbit and a tortoise.

"Come on then." He called, planting his dark hooves firmly into the moss. "Gaucho won't move."