Blood, precious blood!

The smell is immediate in its perforation of the green serenity of the world about them, laden with the warmth of spring; metallic, and sharp, the witch drinks in the perfume in gasps and giggled delight, her heart throbbing with the desire to draw more into the dim light. The recoil of her victim drives her on, the thrumming rhythm of whatever demonic drum drives her steepens, and when Yael succumbs to fear, her hooves lost beneath her, moony tail planted firmly on dark soil, and her golden wings become wreathed in leaves and stalks, rather than the glimpsed frames of sunlight above, the wicked one howls with glee.

"Yes!" is her lustful moan of a cry, a hauntingly exuberant shout of praise to bleak Gods, and murderous intentions; as Yael fears, she lunges forth, her dual blades rising beneath the perfect, pale curvature of her breast, poised to strike down on the skull and neck of the felled, gilded mouse. Even dainty as she is, she is God up here, with all the power to smite and ruin that which she deemed intolerable, or a desirable trinket to enslave.

What Yael might have been is no consequence, however, for as the demoness drives forth with culling blows, magic steals away her chance. Suddenly scaled and fearsome, the face with looks up at the huntress from the earth is not the same, rounded expression of a doe caught in the midst of a pack. Nay, what Beloved beholds inspires a vast wealth of fright in herself, a sudden, and unexpected wall which sends her abruptly plummeting down from the heights of elation with a frightened squeal, and recoiling hind hooves. The fore blades that were lifted to slay, now strike forth in hopes to keep the monster before her at bay, at least long enough for Beloved to flee into the shadows from which she had come.

Cursing this foul mare - no, underestimated, golden witch, wielder of light and defiler of shadow – as she flees, Beloved’s hooves are swift but stumble beneath her as she moves to leave in hast, her white ass exposed, raised tail floating behind her with ghostly ripples. As a farewell and defensive measure, she bucks out as she scurries away, hoping the dragoness desires a kick to the teeth less than a taste of revenge.

"We will get you next time, witch!" she vows with a snarl, hoping to escape before the dragon can catch her in its claws.