The brindled soldier wasn't sure what exactly The Thing was hoping to accomplish by slinging crude and vulgar words back in her direction, much like how monkeys threw their own feces. This... Word-vomit that leaked out of The Thing's mouth stank like rotten sewage, but where the winged one's intent may have been to rile Rhiannon up into the point of anger to attack blindly, like an untrained whelp, the opposite happened.

Dark-tinted lips slowly stretched upwards and a positively devious twinkle etched themselves into gold and silver irises. The soldier's brindled sides began to quiver and tremble with unbidden laughter, crazed chortles bubbling up from the depths of her amble bosom to be released in large, body-wracking guffaws.

"You...!" Tears pricked at the corners of Rhiannon's dual-colored eyes, causing them to narrow as she sucked in massive, heaving breaths of air to try and catch her winded lungs, "You're so adorable." In a completely disgusting way, of course. "I like your mouth... I'll tell you what, Strumpet. I'm excited to hear your voice when I'm ripping your disgusting wings from your shoulders." Which really, Rhiannon wanted nothing more than to do just that, but she settled herself, sucking in deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself for battle. "Maybe if you beg, like a good little whore, I'll only take off one."

This wasn't a play-fight between the other youngsters of the Basin, nor one of the many wrestle matches she had participated in with Talbot. This wasn't a training regiment brought on by her superior officers of the ranks of soldiers in which she served... This was a fight to willingly inflict pain, to draw blood, and Rhiannon yearned to do just that. Her jowls began to salivate at the possibility of tasting The Thing's blood, to drink the crimson life-force from open wounds that the soldier's proud horns would draw.

It was a fight to dominate, to control, and oh, Rhiannon's loins tickled at the simple thought of it. Primal, bestial... That was she, the Brindled Devil, and no amount of holy water could exorcise her.

The wind picked up then, playing with the furled, crimped strands of the brindled mare's mane and tail, caressing the curvature of her hot body that burned with desire and passion, with lust and greed. The sun still shone bright and hot above them at its zenith in the sky, and the area around was clear of any debris or stone that may trip them. It was the prime location for a battle... But it was a shame that the beauty of the Thistle Meadow would soon be drenched in the blood of The Thing, giving the soil the chance to drink the blood of her foes.

Ah, well. Rhiannon always did like to share.

"Come on, then, Strumpet," Rhiannon beckoned with a jovial grin, a mad gleam sparking dangerously in her eyes. The warm-gold and icy-silver contrasted sharply as she shifted, raising her head high and bracing her fore-limbs in preparation of an attack, and her sights were locked deliciously upon the crimson and ebonite figure. "Unless you're too much of a milk-drinker."

[ooc: Wordcount: 524 | Attack: 0/3 | Magic and Companions ARE allowed!
Three attack posts plus closing defense. @[Destry] can make the first attack.
Setting: Thistle Meadow, mid-day, the sun is high and hot in the sky and there's a slight breeze. The field is large and void of obstructions.
This spar is a continuation from THIS THREAD.