In my tumble with Svetlana in the stormy skies, I had learned that fools must be blessed with speed they should not possess. I had trained for months, years, nearly a decade, and earned the power of wind which followed behind my flight with each moment that I drew breath, yet somehow, this imbecile golden bastard was actually managing to outpace me. My wing misses him almost entirely, and with just a simple flick of his head, he is entirely out of range of my limbs? I knew that my legs were stubby, but had I really underestimated my range that badly? I am frustrated and beginning to suspect trickery or some other foul play. Still, it was no matter if he was impossibly fast, I would surmount him in skill yet. Azzaron the Dumb has no idea of the strength years of training has created, otherwise he would not have crossed me so thoughtlessly.

My wings carry me back downward, toward the fool who has managed to return to the earth in mid-motion. I began to think his figure is nothing more than a mirage in the desert; am I even battling a real figure at all? Still, the snap of his teeth which follows behind me as I sail onward reminds me that this is a true battle. Azzaron may be blind to movement, overestimating or underestimating where I happen to be in space far too often, but he is dangerous in his recklessness. There is no target you are completely safe from, for even an oaf can have a stroke of luck and leave you crippled. I am hopeful that my wit will outshine his, despite the fact that he is larger, and that my strength will overcome any surprises he unleashes upon me.

For the sake of my family not falling under the control of this dolt, I must prevail. I have no option but to raise my sword once more, fighting valiantly until I make his feathered arse say uncle. I am stubborn. I am willful. I am strong. I am resolute.

I hear the thrumming of hooves upon the ground, the swift sound of feathers which whistle in air. So, the coward has finally decided to lift himself from the floor and chase after me. I smile with contented glee. Now, I can really tear into him. I flick my ears behind me, listening for the sound of his body as it soars through the air. The wind stills, allowing my pace in the air to become normal, listening, straining. It is of no use. My brow knits in frustration as I realize he is invisible to my ears and eyes, but I am smarter than this dimwitted bird of gold and red. The sun above which warms my back uncomfortably, drawing forth sweat from my pores, also draws out an idea. My dark eyes fall toward the crimson down a mere ten feet from my hovering form, and skittering across the sands are shadows. One shadow, belonging to my smaller body, and another, lankier figure, belonging to my opponent. "Got you," I say with a smirk, a whisper which curls and is lost in the air, following his path with my dark blue eyes as I hold my flight steady, watching his approach as the little figure dances closer to mine.

I wait for his pace to quicken, shadow narrowing, closing in on my back. Then, I pull up and out on my large chocolate wings, a parachute catching the wind I control and bringing me to an almost immediate stop in the air, the whistle of hooves as they fall down where my spine would have been. Without the recoil from my body, perhaps this fool would carry straight on toward the ground, making a bloody face-plant upon the desert floor. In battle, there was no time for easy gliding. Riding a new fresh wave of wind, I chase after him, my body rising slightly in altitude to place myself above where I expected his complacent figure to be, watching as his circle is slow and lazy, but my pace is sharp and cutting, a barracuda after a clownfish. The Queen after the head of her unruly jester.

With relentless force, I drive my body downward toward the neck of my opponent, the crest were his nape meets his withers, my knees bent and aiming to fall cleanly upon him and push him downward. Maybe I would get lucky and snap his neck. The Throat could be eating roast bird tonight.

[ WC: 797; 3/4; 0/2.
Wind magic used in this post is passive.
Buffs: Bulk and Swift. ]