Whether the red-dusted vixen or the drunk accepted her into their herd, the bird does not care; they will never be able to confine her to the borders of that land of mist and humidity. A bird has to stretch her wings out from time to time, and although she has done plenty of that lately she still feels the need to get away from the unfamiliar clamor of herd life. The hybrid is suited for gradual adjustment into social settings, and the dense population of her new home does not allow for that. Perhaps if they are constantly at war she can fit in better; the Aztec always welcomes bloodshed, and she slips into a warrior's mindset with ease. Unfortunately for her that is not the case, and so the chieftess will be forced to come to terms with the discomfort that comes with sociability. At least she can succumb to that torture when it suits her and, at the present moment, it most certainly did not.

Held up by the warm wind and dry air that is customary of the season, the voluminous bird soars high above the clouds where she can feel the full extent of the sun's warmth upon her emerald back. It is enveloped in the warm embrace of the fiery orb that the stained lady allows her thoughts to turn to battle.

Her hardened bodice still aches from the beating that the dappled stag has left her with, and frustration takes hold of her mind whenever she she tries to walk; the puncture wound that the unicorn has been so kind as to mark her with makes the maiden yearn for his blood. The move itself had not been particularly complex, but it was her own foolishness that had allowed the brute to pierce her hide. She will have to work harder to avoid repeating that mistake.

Xolopitli. Fool. How could you let him touch you? How did you manage t- The stream of negativity is interrupted when the astringent hybrid sees a flash of light below her, past the clouds. She is immediately concerned by what the explosion might mean for her or her herd -- she may loathe their company, but the warrior still understands that it is her duty to protect them. If anything, the chieftess welcomes the potential threat that this occurrence might bring. It will give her a chance to make up for the blunder that hinders her performance, and to reclaim her title as the skilled fighter that she has made herself out to be. Her fiery gaze burns brighter at the prospect, and she pulls her wings in to fall beneath the clouds.

Moisture spills from her squinting orbs as gravity pulls her back down to Earth, and lush locks of hair whip all around the maiden as she falls. She can barely make out the flower-spotted field atop the daunting mountain, and she doesn’t realize that the ground is closer to her than she thinks until a second radiant light sparks into being. Muscular green shoulders are quick to set themselves to work, and the bird snaps her colorful sails open so that she will not crash into the meadow. Dark hooves tear into the golden field and tall pillars quake from the impact, but the maiden does not stumble when she reaches the mountain’s peak. The white bars on her legs are dusted with soil and shredded grass when the peahen starts towards the light, but the debris is brushed off by the surrounding foliage. The beauty is indifferent to her appearance anyway, preferring to stain it with the red of her foes over maintaining its brilliant hue. She is beyond hope for finding a mate to settle down with, but she really doesn’t care. The blunt maiden repels the company of others. Yet even so, she still manages to stumble upon another curious creature that resides here.

His coat shines as brightly as the sun, if not brighter, and as the Aztec halts her advance she realizes that he is the cause of the earlier explosion. It even looks as if some of the flames that came from it are still burning at his wings. Does he know he is on fire?

Her questioning stare rakes over his radiant figure, starting at his curved horns and slowly moving down to his feet. There are gold-hued flowers growing there, and she has to suppress an outburst of disbelief; does everyone in this place have some sort of magic? This magic does not seem as useful as some of the others that she has seen, but she does not voice her opinion about it. The golden stallion gives off an authoritative air, and even the crude vixen knows not to piss him off. She decides that it is best to stay quiet, and wait for the burning beast to say something.


"Sed interdum rutrum urna, sed pellentesque sapien tempor in." Quisque iaculis dapibus fermentum.

{Will desire [Item :: Dragon Bone Armor (Magical) || Skull magically affixed to character's head, can expand to armor at will.]}