The sun was high in the sky and it raged above the desert. Tallsun in this place was something Abraham was enjoying less and less (even though naps in shaded areas were quite nice), but this is the place Reginald had chosen. His brother had become a ranked warrior among them, and though Abraham did not conform to their ranks and duties, he had stayed at Reginald's side, protecting and teaching their younger sister. Now, however, Macaria was gone with their father, and Abraham contemplated leaving the desert. At this point, it was not a serious decision he needed to make, but his loyalty to Reginald lay deep enough for him to discuss it with his brother first nonetheless. Reginald enjoyed the beauty and heat of the desert, and Abraham nearly loathed it. It was hot and sticky and bright.

The blackened son of hellion enjoyed their first chosen home much better, and yearned to be there now, fighting this delicate assailant. The Rotunda stayed cool, even in the grasp of summer, with endless shadows and the blissful greens of ever-reaching trees. Although he had not visited the place he once called his kingdom in quite some time, Abraham remembered how the stones felt under his hooves as his body crashed against another's in the dance of war. Despite these thoughts running through his mind, the behemoth knew this was no time to dwell on his innermost desires. He was here in the desert, facing a blazing vixen, and his hooves dug deep into sand and not loamy grass.

It was the sand he cursed inwardly as her wings beat rapidly to stir it up beneath them. Her tactic was smart, but the leviathan had three pairs of eyes to rely on. Even as he narrowed his own eyes even more and shook his head to clear the burning sensation from their mismatched hues, Abraham could still see the girl charging headlong at him as clearly. His dragons sent twin images of the dun woman to his mind's eye as they rocketed down  from their perch in the sky toward the ebony-haired warrioress. Abraham kept his hooves planted in the red sands, knowing that even if she tried to slam into his body she would be met with only steel. He was a mountain, immovable and unbreakable. Blinking, his blurry vision mixed with the clear images from his dragons, and he pinpointed Zenobia on his right side. Quickly, the dark man thrust his head toward her right side, tucking his chin. He aimed to assault her wing-joint with his lethal horns, or slice down her side as he had once done to Volterra. The pegasus moved quickly--quicker than Abraham's massive body could manage--and her hooves shot out just as quickly. Abraham's head surged upwards, wary of a buck toward his jaws, but Zenobia's kick was aimed lower than that. Quickly, her leg slipped past his right front and the side of her solid hoof smacked against Abraham's thick, feathered left ergot. The heavy hair saved the kick from scraping hair and skin away from bone, but the pain shot through his leg nonetheless. Surely a cruise would form beneath white hair, but the injury was a blink in comparison to what Abraham's body had previously felt from other opponents. The hindrance from this injury would be small. Sucking in a breath, Abraham moved his body as quickly as he could. The massive stallion aimed to swing his hips toward Zenobia's right side, shifting to shoulder most of his weight on his own right side, and with urgency and power he bucked out toward her right thigh. His jaw tightened, refusing to show the pain he felt in his leg on his face. He was composed of iron and ice, so it would be known.

Keep her close. Keep her grounded. Abraham sent the commands quick and short over his shared bonds, and his dragons reacted like lightning. Gwyneverre darted toward the woman's head with her claws outstretched, trying to slice the woman's eyes. Brienne flew toward Zenobia's wings, and a sudden rush of frost burst from the gold's jaws toward the left flight-appendage. Inside draconian chests, rage burned. It ebbed towards Abraham's heart, pumping the heat of anger through his arteries. He had laughed in this foolish woman's face, but within the lock of battle, Abraham's body became a hurricane of raging anger. The waves of abhorrence burned brightly despite Abraham's stoney, void face. Thick muscles and strong bones filled with malicious intent as Abraham sought to demolish her.

He was going to keep this feather for Macaria, and he was going to show this welp of a woman what it meant to cross paths with a son of hellion.