The world responded with a giant middle finger shaped like Archibald. "You want a fight?" the winter winds laughed, "then here's a fight you drunk stupid bitch."

Ampere stilled, bewildered as the Dauntless and his dog emerged from the thickets, their skin taut with readiness. Time slowed for a period then, granting Ampere a moment to collect, to listen to the hammering of her heart in her chest (the one she kept saying she didn't have any more), to feel the way the chill bit at her shaggy winter coat, to hear the fresh snow fall crunching under hoof where weight packed it down. Kygo hunkered down in the tree where he perched, not wanting any participation in this, though a thread of yellow fear bled into their bond and ran like urine down the back of Ampere's mind.

The Mother of Companions exhaled steadily, the visible cloud rising momentarily before dispersing. Black lashes fluttered across hard, blue eyes, and the opponent before her vanished. This wasn't Archibald- the black hairs had turned brown, and the white deepened into black- this was a memory she was fighting with everything she had. Even though her body tensed and the bone collar that should have been on him instead shifted against the slope of her neck, Ampere couldn't shake the image of the stallion burning before her. It wasn't the alcohol; that had her swaying a little bit, had her breath hot with stink and her edges dulled with reckless abandon. No, this image was born of grief and rage and it filled her mouth like saliva rushing in for a meal; and boy was she hungry.

It only took a moment for all this to shudder through her, for startled admission to slip into firm resolve. She had faced the god of war more than once, and she would do it again. She was not afraid; she was not ready, but she was not afraid. She had faced him before, and she would face him as many times as it took until she could rip him from the throne he'd built in her heart.

"Gaucho," she whispered tersely, and then she was in motion.

Her haunches bundled with a strength that paled in comparison to his, but her courage would have to make up for it. The muscled spring sent her surging forward, mouth agape in a silent bellow, teeth exposed for all their desire as her lips sneered back, matching the motion of her ears that held eagerly onto her neck. Hair and snow flew around her, while feathers whispered for balance among the winter land and liquored bones. Stupidly she drove straight on for him, and she was fast, but not fast enough for that, not even fast enough for him, as she'd likely come to find, not when she was soggy with despair and wine.

Her teeth snapped for any flesh she could manage, but she sought out his face purposefully. She did not slack her pace as she neared, more than willing to obliterate herself on the shores of his body if that would tear him down too. The collar of bony spikes that framed her neck like a bloody Valentine's day gift would be there to grip his hide if they did collide. Her fore hooves maddeningly raised up and down with furious stomping, as if she could climb him, conquer the mountain that he was and shit on the top with triumph. Even if she couldn't, and she probably wouldn't for all her sloppy maneuvering and the treachery of the snow, but shearing away hide from the thinly protected pillars of his own limbs would be good enough, for now. Around her electricity popped into life, little blue orbs born of the dead matter smothered by the ice, recreated for her passion and waiting to be gathered and wielded when she had the focus to do so.

She fought with a madness that echoed her devotion, things that were well and truly the same.

---

A: 1/3
D: 0/1
W: 678/800