Bellona
Beauty may be skin deep
But cruelty runs clear to the bone.

The peahen becomes unsettled as more and more creatures gather around her to study the mare composed of lava. She has never seen so many equines since the day she returned to Helovia, and so many of them are winged. Annoyance takes hold of the travel-weary maiden -- how dare they show up when she no longer requires their aid -- and the warrior focuses her hard stare on Aurelia, as if she is to blame. If the gold-dusted pegasus has managed to piss the goddess off just by being here, the vibrant bird feels that she is justified to provide her with ample punishment. The molten creature is certainly more than capable of dealing justice herself, of course, but where is the fun in that?

"Aurelia!" She spits out the unfamiliar name, her tone more chastising than angry. The desire to tear into the younger winged fae is powerful, but she resists it with a bold snap of her wings. The awe that the goddess has inspired in her as kept her mind off the heat, but now that the maiden's mood is firing up as well the increase in temperature is hard to ignore. Green tendrils stick to a damp azure nape when Bellona throws her head to the side, her eyes rolling slightly when she gestures to the painted lady.

"Not only have you angered the teotl, but you have upset others here as well. I suggest you remove yourself from this place, before someone does it for you." Lashing out with a white-laced pillar, the peahen slams her dark hoof into the rock underfoot as a threat. She is not afraid to make such a bold statement, and especially since the crowd's attitude appears to match her own.

Not just a pretty face, but with intelligence and cunning to boot, Bellona has been observing the reactions of the growing crowd. There aren't many who are happy to see the porcelain girl, and there are others who do not bat at an eye at her presence. Some even greet the mare, but there appear to be more who are unimpressed with her than those who are.

Although she is not a vain creature, the peahen is surprised to see that there are even fewer reactions to her own appearance. The realization does not bother her. They'll know my name soon enough.

Slapping a green-stained tail against striped legs, the hybrid casts her gaze about the crowd one last time. Her sunset pools find the stallion who has won the egg, and the chieftess makes a note to approach him later. She is clueless as to why anyone would want such a thing, but based on the throng of equines assembled here, it must have some value to it. Perhaps it will be worth having a conversation over something of such importance.



"Talk talk talk."
{Teotl- "goddess".}