There are few things more attractive than a woman at war. Sexist he may be, but he knows the fairer gender can sometimes prove to be anything but fair - they can be fierce, powerful creatures, which does nothing to dim the eternal ache in his groin for them. When he sees them, poetry in motion, using those heavenly curves and their God-given beauty for bloodshed rather than broodmothering, it does unspeakable things to him. He wants them. He wants them all. He wants their hooves on his skin, their teeth in his flesh and his in theirs, to bend them in submission and fold them to be tools of his pleasure. To take and take and take until he's done, until his thighs quiver and his heart slows, until the hunt is over...at least, over until the next time one catches his eye.

This woman, this warrioress, ignites all these feelings in him. He doesn't quite know why she is annihilating a unicorn, having missed the initial exchange - he does know that it is beautiful, like a work of fucking art. He advances, lonely predator, crushing the ground with his sheer weight and presence. The closer he gets, the more familiarity strikes him, and he's cast back to a meeting when he first obtained his magic, when he was but a boy without the needs of a man. She said she saw potential in him, and oh, how right she was. He is a stallion grown now, all hard lines and swollen muscle sculpted by testosterone and perseverence alike. His control of his magic has flowered and expanded, the magic that initially drew her to him as he stood balanced atop a hill of his own making.

He casts a lazy glance in the direction of the fleeing unicorn, shrivelling his nose in distaste. To submit so easily? Foul man. His thick legs bring him to a halt near to her, and a grin flexes his lips as he looks down on her, now. There's quite a few hands in between their heights, and he wonders if she will recognise him as the boy who played with earth now he's reached his adult form. She finishes bathing in the river, and his penetrating crimson eyes linger as she shakes her mane, hungrily devouring each sharp muscle of her small but strong body. "And what did he do to earn your ire?" questions the young stud, his voice no longer the wavering squeak of a boy but the strong, hard rasp of a man.

Above them, a blood-red dragon circles. The crimson knows the thoughts in his bonded's mind, knows that the earth beast is on the prowl, and thus knows it is better to stay away.