The tiger's blood-curdling screams of agony and rage pierce through the air and Imonada feels it to her very core, which quakes in nearly crazed fear. Wide, white-rimmed eyes pull themselves off her herdmate and superior Resplendence to watch the wretched scene playing out right before them all. For one absurd moment she felt like a foal again, watching the reenactments her folk played out to honor the ancestors and their great battles, the special effects aided by magic and thus hyper-real; it would look just like this, all the actors tossing away their personal identities and adopting the tradition of battle. Only this time it wasn't for show, or for fun; real blood was being spilled, lives were being threatened, and true chaos had come to take them all in its inclusionary embrace. Not once did Imoada think any single soul here would be spared the wrath of the tiger queen, should she prevail.

Fortunately, the raven pegasus used her terror and honed her panic into a fine tool. Always an open book, so vulnerable and contrary to her profession, she could not hide the dread; but neither did she the single-mindedness and determination it fostered. Hearing her own tremor in Resplendence's voice, she adopts a concerned expression and offers her a heavy whisper, so soft compared to the apocalyptic cacophony. "Everything will be okay, I promise, madam."

A bizarre state of existence, for sure, with everything somehow going by so tediously and yet blindingly fast; time warped, their universe focused on this one battle. Although she keeps a cerebral eye on the front, feeling a new spike of panic as flames begin to devour the area, growing into a brilliant inferno that adopts the goddess' fearsome rage, she maintains a legendary cool in spite of the deadly turmoil; it only minutely cracks, manifesting as deep furrows of shock in her brow, when Erthë appears beside them, her leg unnaturally bent, the filly motionless. "Do not crowd her," she commands, maybe even pleads, gently to the others that begin to rush to the pale girl, all the while watching Respledence pinballing around to aid others. Imonada grabs a mouthful of the chamomile, then brings it to the child, laying it by her small nose, hoping the tangy scent would stir her to some semblance of consciousness. "You again? Where are your parents.....? ..... Wake, lassie. You need to eat this." She spoke so tenderly, so serenely, with such care, as if she were purposefully inviting Erthë back to a pleasant reality, despite the true nature of the circumstance; but, Imonada be damned, the girl needed to rouse!

Waiting for the filly to come about, she scans their theater of war, spotting Mauja backing off and seeing an opportunity to aid someone with a boost. She won't leave Erthë until she wakes and swallows the herbs, but Imonada was a planner; she was already calculating her next move, putting sentiment and the desire to comfort aside for the duration of this wildly violent event.