A great belly-laugh erupts from her at his words. "Oh, I completely understand." She knows precisely what he means. Sometimes, one has to find their release outside of the bounds of their herds; for a moment she thinks of Tembovu, wonders what he would think if he'd met her like this (horny, hot and bored). Would he have agreed to satisfy her again, or shun her for fear of upsetting his lady wife? The silver shrivels her nostrils, still disgusted that a man as fine as the Elephant King should take himself off the market due to monogamy.

It does not cross her mind that the great warlord she's currently battling is also a one-woman kind of guy, and that it's purely a happy quirk of chance that has lead him to run into Nyx when he's angry, single and ready to mingle. When he's unattached. Or unchained, as the silver prefers to think of it.

To her considerable astonishment, her next set of attacks meet with far greater success than her first ones. Judging by his sudden erratic movements, she can assume her sizzling of his blood succeeded; her horn finds purchase in his flesh as well, and a purr of delight escapes her lips. She's aching, burning, losing, but at least he's hurting now, too. She has marked the Wildfire, the greatest warlord to ever set foot in Helovia - that's something to tell the grandkids.

Again. Well, she's never heard that before. "Ooh, kinky," she says, her voice a husky purr. "I can see why we get along."

Her success is shortlived. She automatically shifts backwards as he moves, so as a result when he swings his colossal side into hers, it's his giant hindquarters that hit her rather than his ribcage. Hard muscle and sheer brawn slams into her left side with enough force to knock the breath out of her, and she's launched unceremoniously to her right. She feels at least two ribs crack with the force, and the air is forced from her lungs in a croaky, pained gargle; agony like she's never felt before ripples through her whole side. She has never broken a bone before, and the pain is acute - it is all-consuming, it is like fire in her skin, hot needles into her very core.

She's defeated, she can't go on - sense tells her to submit now rather than fight on through this pain, but she'll be fucked if she gives up so easily. That is not how she's made.

So, with a savage war-bellow, the silver hobbles forwards and swings her own hindquarters to the left, attempting to slam them into his own wounded ribcage to try and cause a pain similar to the one she's currently suffering. As she does so, she coats her flesh with electrified ice again; she sizzles with power as she attempts to cause his flesh to ache and spark all in one fluent movement. And, as her coupe de grace, she once again aims to set the water in his blood afire with electricity. A cacophony of lightning, she is the storm in grey fur.

He wanted again? He's damn well getting it.