Metal is cool and coiled round strawberry ears, chilled by arctic life and the natural retention of temperature in the silver element. It is a distraction for Hotaru, the light-limbed fae wandering through the snowy tundra on a mission for peace of mind. She is a ticking bomb, for her mission is fruitless, her answer nonexistent. Frustration was not pretty in the spitfire, and the longer she went grasping at frayed strands of the knots in her mind, the more it mounted. Snowy hooves kicked aside that which it echoed, trailing along and idly jutting the tips into the hard earth on occasion, gouging apart the sanctified child of the Earth God in her irritation. Shimmering gold and silver mane was frosted in the late snowfall, though the flakes had long since disappeared into the afternoon and the farther south she traveled. Hotaru’s annoyance only strengthened, until her brow was knit beneath the metal and her plume whipped the air in a harsh, discordant noise.

She is not alone for long. On the horizon, a figure plummets from the sky, barely discernible from the pale overcast clouds that are his backdrop. Only the smudged handprints of darkness remove him from the surroundings, and as hooves touch earth, Hotaru finds inside her that harbored hatred of these winged beasts. Her mother had been of similar breed, and perhaps she merely despised this fellow because of that lingering disgust. Or maybe it was how close he was, unneringly even, to the borders and the concealed path to her home. To her child. To her Lady, her family, the only family she has ever known and loved. Maybe she perpetuates that same hatred, doing what she’s considering so heavily. Maybe she’s spreading that infection, that dark plague that causes mistrust of those with horns, those that hail from the land she so loves. But, despite the possibilities, Hotaru suddenly, fiercely hates.

She tells herself it’s because he’s a danger. It does nothing to shroud the truth, that Hotaru wants only to rend him apart for what he is, for daring to remind her of a time when she was weak. She will prove that she isn’t weak anymore. Maybe it won’t be her mother she proves it to, but in his wings she sees her, and Hotaru wants only to rip them from his shoulders. Shuffling pace turns to a sprint, slim body advancing across frozen ground, mini flurries spraying from her hooves. All it takes is a thought, and silver armor is sliding across her body, cold but familiar. It does little to slow her, impede her progress. Raised wings do not threaten her, horns emerging to shroud her own natural one. Only more reason to let the disgust fester, for a Pegasus did not deserve horns, especially not a fake silver imitation. This armor was born for her body, not some cheap imitator.

No sound escapes her lips, only the pound of her hooves and the slushy sound of the snow caving beneath her, blood running hotter than the Veins magma. He doesn’t deserve a warning. She approaches from the side, his left flank. Lets the red cloud her vision, hailing herself a defender when in fact…Hotaru is merely an assassin. The Grey lives in her blood, a cruel mockery, but she will do it justice. Limber bodice shoots forward, an arrow, ducking fine head to level the trio of horns at the sensitive left flank of her unnamed foe. Hotaru’s prey. Beneath these silent, grayscale skies, she will paint the pristine snow with his blood.

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{595/800} && {1/3}

@[Gull]