The inky stallion was too consumed by his rage to be brought down by her words. They were merely muffled screams in his ears, blood pounding and drowning out any definition she may have put behind them. Even if he had been able to hear her words for what they were, he would have paid no mind to them. The only thought that rattled around in his primal brain was kill, kill, kill. The love that he felt for the small, defenseless fae that had been skirted to safety by his herd mates wholly consumed his heart and blackened his lungs into raging embers when he watched Histe harm her. He could not let this brindled mare go on to cause more harm in the world. This was his doing, his fault, his seed that had created a child for Histe to hurt, and Einarr had to act to absolve these sins of the flesh.

Cloven hooves slammed down on the female's neck and Einarr grunted. No smile of victory or flare of glory showed, his face was as twisted with anger as it had been when he roared earlier. Despite his expression, the satisfaction that rippled through is body at a successful attack was still the same as it would always be. The pleasure would only amplify if she fell dead at his hooves, and he would dance on her grave. The stallion flapped his wings a few more times before closing them towards his side. He attempted to clear over her before landing, but he felt sudden pressure pulling down on his hind end. Turning his head around his shoulder with a rapid grunt, Einarr watched as Histe pulled down on his tail. Quickly, the stallion struck out with his hind hooves, an attempt at slamming them against her face. Front legs straightened some and braced for the impact of the ground. His landing was hard and as ungraceful as a landing could be, but he was out of the air and, hopefully, away from Histe's bite. Einarr assumed he had enough time to turn and face her due to her body being weighed down by the whisper of childbirth.

Turning around quickly, Einarr lowered his head some and charged towards the brindled mare. The inky stallion tucked his wings in tight against his ribs as he charged, to protect them from breaking any bones. The screams and protests of his body were no match for the screaming rage that pushed him forward. He would give attention to his wounds later, for now he needed only to end what he had started. Jutting his shoulders forward, Einarr made an attempt to slam directly into Histe and send her down into the loamy mud once more. Every muscle his body held twitched with the desire to stomp the life out of this mare, and if he could push her down to the ground, that was his intention.
[WC: 488 | PC: 3/3] @[Histe]