My wings buffet upward as I see the throwing of the ungraceful, untrained figure of the dapple stallion go backward. My front end lurches upward and my back end rises, hooves missing his figure entirely and teeth grasping on nothing but my lost hopes of hitting the bastard. My back end does not stop so quickly, pushing forward from the inertia with nothing to stop it, dragging me towards Argetlam even as I bade my body still with my mind. His hooves lash out, grappling with my back legs, but his small victory will not last long. My cannons may be scraped, lightly bruised and bleeding, but the pain is momentary for me. It is only a few brief seconds before other bodies collide with his and leave nothing but a lump of grey laying loosely upon the grass. My attack had served well as a distraction, and for that I was thankful.

At least I had not misjudged the ill-built stallion. He, after all, was the first to fall of the Foothills "troops". My head cranes upward as I hover above the broken body of the crafter, looking out toward the battlefield and looking for Jackal the King of Thieves. I had not been looking for him upon my surge into the lands, but now I wanted to see how the king was handling his warriors falling like leaves in autumn. Confused, my dark eyes pull up no familiar figure of the spotted red dun. My face contorts in an ugly light for a moment, for I have never encountered a leader who would abandon their troops in the midst of an invasion. My ears perk forward, my wings hold me easily, the wind lightly lapping at my face. Where is he?

Jackal the Cowardly. That is how I would remember him from this day onward. He is no leader. He is a dog with his tail tucked clean between his legs.

I have sympathy for the brave faces that come in the absence of their leader, but not enough to throw away my promises. I would fight until this battle was over. I would raise my head in victory, or at least be able to hold it high in pride. Even if I am to lose this battle, I can rest easy knowing that those who defeated me are strong enough to face the end of their home in the absence of a leader to rally behind. Every soul on this field was worth celebration, but only after our swords are lowered. Only then.

My dark eyes receive a glint from the sunlight as it reflects upon metal, and my face is drawn in the direction of my General, who looks to be accompanying an awkwardly moving stallion in the battle of a large draft. While I have every confidence in Midas, I wish to aid him in the protection of the one not so battle-savvy, and I fly onward with the sun lighting my back, filling me with a sense of warmth and confidence. A smirk grows on my face as I settle in, wings holding me steady above the clamor of bodies below, the sound of flesh on flesh, hooves clapping against the skin of others. The sound of battle like a drum beats in my ears. It is then that I see it, the monochromatic brute coming to a halt, one of his legs lifting, his mouth flopping open as his voice spills into the air. My ears flick back in stunned confusion, as I am honestly led to believe he is calling for a time out.

Fuck that.

I angle my wings downward, tugging the wind behind me to multiply my speed. It races in front of me like a cool wave, but my figure would be distorted by the sunlight anyway, only my shadow, which races along the ground painted bloody in the early light of the day, would be a good hint for my location unless this idiot likes blinding himself as a past time as well as trying to take pause in the middle of battle. I swoop down, my legs bent in readiness for a strong impact, and I aim to crash into the left side of THAROS as he stands with one leg up. I attempted to throw enough force behind my attack to knock the bitch clear over into the grass for being foolish enough to lower his guard in the middle of a battle. As my body nears his, I extend a neck outward toward the left side of his broad neck. "Times up," I coo in an unusually female way, even as my jaws continue to launch toward the flesh of his neck.
""

[ WC: 825; Magic: 0/4?
Wind magic in this post is passive.

Kri receives cuts on her back cannons from Argetlam. She flies over toward the Midas, Apollo, and Tharos fight. She dives downward to try and knock THAROS in the left side, an attempt to knock him over while his leg is raised, while simultaneously launching a bite at his neck. ]