Korra

thrilling to think, poor child of sin - it was the dead who groaned within

Mauja’s voice resonated clearly through her mind, the only sound she was able to hear over the sound of her blood roaring through her veins. Her fiery gaze shifted between the appointed targets, muscles flexing visibly under her raw skin. Though small of stature, the garron was pure, refined muscle under her shaggy coat, and a cunning mind as well. This was what she had been born to do, the adrenaline pumping harder for every passing moment. Tossing her head in impatience, the savage kept her eye on her king next to her, ready to move whenever he would give his signal. Ice spikes thrusted up from the ground in the midst of the enemy, and when Mauja charged, Korra uttered a hoarse, shrill battle-cry of her own before lunging forward next to the marbled frostheart.

Chaos ensued all around, but she blocked it out, moving with a surprising agility and surefooted steps to the painted youth in her crosshair. Suddenly, the figure running next to her seemed to catch fire, flames engulfing her king compltely. She did not halt, if she did, she would possibly suffer the same destiny. Instead she leapt to the side powerfully, approaching AARON just as he was focused upon burning the king. When the bicolored youth leapt to the side to avoid Mauja’s charging horn, he chose the side on which Korra was coming closer. The softness of his barrel stretched out in front of her, like a canvas waiting to be painted red. Knife-sharp antlers were aimed directly at the colt’s side, and she hoped to rip open his side all up the belly, from his flank to his chest. She kept her head low, so should he want to chomp at her face, all he would get would be a mouthful of those same antlers.

Without hesistating, she flung her back hooves at AARON’s hindlegs, hoping to land a blow forceful enough to shatter his cannon bone, the most fragile part of the leg. The youth was of heavy heritage, which could potentially spare him from some of the intended harm, but the barbarian did not stop to analyze. She was closer to him than she liked, but the closeness could also be an advantage; from where she was standing, he would have to move away to aim a proper kick at her, and that would give her time to dodge his little antics.

The smell of blood filled her nostrils, lobes pinned firmly down her neck as she landed on the ground, spinning on the spot to face flank of the young stallion. This time, she bowed her head, aiming her sharp antlers for the softness of his barrel. Yes, he was not much more than a child, but this was war; if he was big enough to get himself into a battle, he must be ripe to die.

[475 words]