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Ophelia watched a shadow grow larger and larger around her, casting her pale figure in a deathly pallor, and she wondered if she was going to die today. Her body was in a panic, pain in her hip telling her to move forward, but her mind was in a state of confusion, depression even. Why would he want to kill her? What purpose would that serve? What had she done to be called a troll?
Pain spread through her left flank, and she could not stifle the scream of agony that moved past her lips. It was torture feeling this way. The gyphon's talons nor Nyra's horn could compare to the tearing sensation of his horn breaking the flawless porcelain of her side. She slid to a stop and spun around, favoring her leg as she felt crimson wet sliding down around her ankle.
Dual colored eyes paused in hopes that he would truly see her, realize that she was like him. Still, she lowered her horn to his chest and backed away, ready to allow him to impale himself on her brow should he come at her again. Ophelia had never had to fight before, but she soon found that once the panic was gone, her mind was keenly focused and she was alive.
Fortunately, she did not have to wage this war alone. Kri had answered her cry. The beautiful, mahogany mare swept down and aimed to latch on to his wing, and Ophelia finally exhaled a careful breath, wincing as she made her way to Kri with a slight limp. The young mare's two tone eyes displayed honest confusion and injury, and she shook her head. "I do not know what happened..." she murmured, still breathless. "I came back to tell you what I have discovered, but... he... he called me a troll and told me that I would die."
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