Cloven hooves pressed into the damp earth, tiny particles of sand sticking to her form as she moved. The coastline was not a favored place for Niska. She hated the course feel of the grit on her pelt. Hated the sharp, salty, stink in the air. Hated the brittle cold that always seemed to blow in off the waves and nip at her form. Hatred seemed to fill her up, consuming her. She didn't know why it filled her so. Perhaps she was just having one of those days, after all she was of the female kind. It probably did have a part to play in her mood, but really she was disgruntled that some sly fox had managed to steal from her. Steal her precious jewelry from her duel horns. An angry snort blew from her maw.

Despite feeling this way, the young fem felt an air of importance and power as her lithe peds pulled her along the terrain. Even now as she trotted along, the already darkening day seemed to cloud further, the brewing storm worsening behind her. It was almost as if her mood was forming the black clouds. The thunder acting as her angry roar, chasing the carefree soft wisps of cloud from the sky and eating up the sun. Of course she didn't have this power, and nobody she knew did. Niska was not stupid though, she would need to find shelter soon, her pelt was already with slick with rain. Luckily a cave, albeit a shallow cave, was formed into the cliff surface not far from the shoreline where she idled. Though even now she could see a pale form peaking from the shadows.

As she drew near, her eyes darted over his form, their pale purple hue taking in all that he was. He was of course a brute, he was of similar size and build to herself. He adorned horns and wings. A hybrid. The word, although not spoken, left a sour taste in her mouth. She disliked all the other species, they were all beneath her and impure. Equines were dull and boring. She felt slightly sorry for them, as they were not, in her opinion, gifted in anyway. Those with wings she couldn't fathom, they were unhorned and thus not gifted, but they possessed the means of flight. It ticked her off that such a beast could fly, yet she was unable. Jealousy was a tough pill to swallow.

The hatred she had been feeling, boiled and bubbled within her veins. She didn't know this stag, nor have any reason to attack him, but she did so anyway. Without warning she let her casual gait turn into a leaping sprint. Once close enough, she reared up. Aiming to bash her forelimbs into his right shoulder, or possibly his wing. Her nape still managed to arch delicately, forcing her duel horns to point towards his form.

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