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

"This is our home, little beast. You were born upon the island we just flew from, but this land of mist is our home." Earthen hooves touch down on the sodden ground as the words are emitted, adding their heavy tone to the equally as thick air. A brightly plumed wither flinches at her charge's excited scratching, but colorful wings settle against jewelled sides instead of delivering a painful warning. The haughty peahen makes use of her tongue for such an endeavour. "Stop that, or I won't let you sit there any more." The boy settles down almost immediately, and the Chieftess snorts in approval. She has taken to him as quickly as he has accepted her, but since the discovery -- or misunderstanding? -- of the bridge that links their minds she has settled for begrudging acceptance when considering the rougarou. For a more direct translation, the bird is trying to practice patience.

"See how the ground sinks when my hooves press into it?" The stationary hybrid stomps one hoof to demonstrate. The mossy earth squelches in response, and mud coats the walls of her weapon. "It is very wet here, and it will only get wetter as the season progresses. Until your other form is mature enough to fly, you will behave yourself so that I will continue to carry you. Understood?" Massive audits bob back and forth in response. A delighted mewl sounds from the onyx-hued cat as bright blue feathers tickle his ears. The maiden rolls her eyes at this, unimpressed with the boy's amusement. Her colorful body lurches forwards without warning, knocking the playful feline into a tangle of lime knots. Chuckling, the cruel bird comments on his lack of attention and the consequences that will come of it.

You'll have to focus more when I start bringing you into battle, mictla. I won't pause to help you if you cannot help yourself first. Her eyes rake across the lush scenery as she mentions this to the kitten, who has gotten one of his claws ensnared in her mane. The sense of panic that he emits from this predicament puts the watchful mare on edge, and her gaze hardens when she takes notice of two figures in the distance. Attentive harks take in the sound of splashing, and sunset orbs widen with realization. It is not just two forms that they see, but three. The watchful maiden is suddenly very curious, and she turns her head to eye the lad. "Stop messing around with my head."

Returning her attention to the creature in the water, the peahen contemplates joining it. Struck with horror by his mother's contemplations, the feathered kitten desperately urges her to take flight again instead. Much to his demise, he learns soon enough that she does not take kindly to orders. Spurred on by his protestations the stubborn bird launches herself into the water, churning her wings in the murky fluid to make sure that the babe gets wet.

Satisfied with his reaction (suppressing the urge to make his displeasure known and burrowing his face into her neck) the beauty pushes towards the opposite bank. She overtakes the struggling mutt easily, scarcely giving her a glance, and shouts a rowdy-yet-somewhat-joyful greeting to the vixens standing upon the shore. "Come on now, ladies. Afraid of a bit of water?"

"Talk talk talk."

{@[Cealestis] And so the lessons proceed!

mictla -- place of death}