WE WERE STRONG.
we stayed bright as lightning. we sang loud as thunder.
we moved ever forward.</style>
I watch his face inquisitively, but feel the ice in his touch. Instead of warmth for family, he harbors no sense of summer in the golden eyes that look back toward me. I balk at his attempt to fool me with sentimental gestures. If there was anything I detested in this world, it was a liar. Still, I cannot say that Midas is lying to me out of a manipulative purpose. Perhaps, this is his self-defense, or perhaps I am too sensitive. Still, the ice which lingers in the corners of the sunlit eyes makes me cringe inside my skin. My heart would spill out all of its blood to erase the emptiness that plagued his expression, to return a joyous smile on the features of my general. Family. What is this concept I lock so tightly away in my chest? I will likely never be able to name it, but I can certainly feel the ties like chains in my bones.

I am bound to them. A dragon and her precious treasures.

I nod in his response to war, but my eyes look out toward my homeland, imagining the spilling of enemies past our borders. I shrug. "We of the Throat have the hearts of lions," I say, my lips easing into a broad smile. "There is no need to worry about battle." We will not lose. My eyes flit over to look at Midas in the periphery, only to see him retreating from my side and speaking familiar words. My grin grows broader, and I watch as he readies for take off. My own wings begin to unfold as I lift my weight onto my haunches, swerving my front end down and hitting the red dirt with hooves of haste. I flap once, twice, catching the natural winds of the desert and rising, my hooves lifted from the ground as I am propelled forward my the strength and grace of my feathered limbs. I do not rise far, allowing Midas to sail on, keeping myself steady, trying to remain below him as I race his shadow with my own.

I then curve my flight sharply upward, slanted left, climbing in the air toward the left wing of Midas, bending my neck in preparation. I continue my path up in altitude, directing my flight toward the underside of Midas's left wing, attempting lodge my body full speed onto it and up, which might send the painted stallion twirling off into the sky. Hopefully, this would be a strong enough attack to knock the fog from his head and get him to open his eyes and look toward me. I would not injure my friend, but he was sorely mistaken if he thought my definition of nice was gentle. At the time the curved top-line of my neck would meet with the wing if my aim was true, I launch a soft kick toward the left rump of Midas, to further help in throwing his flight off balance and bringing his attention to the present without dealing him serious injury.

Just as with Azzuen, I would show Midas the full extent of my will.
""

[ WC: 552; 1/3; No magic or companions.
Kri will be using buffs SWIFT and AIM. ]