The Mender received no pleasure from injuring one of her own. There was no enjoyment in the dance of titans, of behemoths, of monsters and crusaders. The assault was quick and sudden, far more damage than she’d intended, like a slip of a viper, striking out from the unknown. Her features nearly fell into a fit of apology, ready to extend the sincere regret and rue for her actions, but Imogen, wild and eager, bristled through her mind – a constant beacon and reminder for the Songbird. She’s a Soldier, she’s ready for this bridged over their silent connection, but the notion still surged through the sylph’s heart, of bodies flourishing at the thought, at the hint, at the notion of battle (and how the sentiments always made her uneasy). In some moments, she’d been one of those cretins and creatures, lost to the whims, to the capricious, mercurial exploits, to the taste of violence and vigilance (and every time, it had come crashing down around them).

Instead of faltering, instead of begging for forgiveness, she continued on, waiting for a segment of retaliation. Her frame recalled the avaricious inferno consuming, swallowing, and devouring her existence by the sea, and though she knew naught of Sialia’s capabilities, the fear was still paramount, brushed and nestled alongside her determination, her bravery, her stalwart manifestos. She promised, in the thick of quiet, in the turn of her head, a wholesome creed, a flourishing conviction: to heal if anything went terribly awry, to sing and mend and assuage if brutality began to fixate too rashly over their skirmish.

While Imogen waited, humming a vicious, potent hymn, the nymph heard the swish of grass, the return of movement and motion, twisting her ears in hopes of capturing the location of the sable mare’s pursuit. Was the Amazon rapid, fleet-of-foot? The unknown rattled her thoughts; she maneuvered her cranium to witness the femme reaching for her passing left haunch, and then escalated her own speed.

Her pace was a swift, straight shot, yearning to simply get out of range. She nearly bolted to the hot springs, for the ivory kitsune’s smirking face, turning right, haphazard, apprehensive motions, a gazelle flustered and reeling from their predator of the day. The actions must have worked, for she felt no pain slinking across her body, no bursting agony filtering through her psyche; just her heart fluttering in chaotic traces, her mind trying to administer the next branch of tactics.

The vixen in the grass, however, was probably the only Machiavellian mind she required. While the Mender strived to flee, Imogen longed for the bitter relish of hostility, of vehemence, of trickery and deceit. Let me! she craved, flashing along pieces of her plan to Lena’s mind, narrowing her eyes in avaricious glee, peeling back the veneer of innocence. Fueled and incited, excited and kindled, the fox attempted to slide alongside Sialia’s right, quiet, aloof, tending to the long, wet grass, hiding amongst its savage growth.

The mare only swallowed, and turned back towards Sialia’s left in a meandering circle, increasing her tempo as Imogen’s plot calculated and scored. It was meant to be a simultaneous attack, depending on where the opposing presence intended to be. Lena was incapable of predicting her movement, but the endeavor would be made, no matter how much her heart hated it. Remember the purpose, she proposed to herself as she pursued, approached, Sialia’s left side again, practicing – without practice, all of us would be doomed.

In the same breadth, they combined their undertaking. From the right, Imogen leaped away from the tangling lawn, maw gaping, hackles raised, fangs reaching for a piece of Sialia’s right hind (lightly, Lena admonished, and only the briefest flicker of disappointment crossed from the vixen’s end), while Lena drifted towards Sialia’s left barrel, intending to mark her only with another brief nip.

[643 words. 2/3.
Lena bolts away from Sialia’s impending attack, going straight towards the hot springs, then drifting right, and the attack misses. Out of the way, she allows Imogen’s battle strategy to take over, and circles back around to begin coming towards Sialia’s left again (so they’re facing left to left). Imogen maneuvers along Sialia’s right side (hiding in the grass, coming from the hot spring shore), and depending on how much Sialia moved during this time frame, the kitsune aims to bite lightly at her right haunch. Lena’s nip, hopefully done simultaneously, is aimed towards Sialia’s left barrel.]