Fuck.

Hespera is not a mare predisposed to vulgar language which forcibly reminds her of unpleasantry in the dirty fighting pits of another world, where the earth trembles and more and more foes are sent to her as they test her ability to battle. The stormchild did not have anything to fear- she was a goddess with lord-given powers, and every time she slayed the beasts without terror in her heart, the only sound the rush of blood pounding in her ears. Here, she could die; here, she might be ripped from limb to limb, swallowed in the yawning maw of the monstrous beast.

Even as she rears, welcoming the sensation of crushing hot flesh beneath cloven hooves, she fears for the fool child who came to play at war. Hespera wants nothing more than to protect her, the little yearling- she is utterly unaware of the many fantastical powers Helovians had, and she was most certainly blind to the fact there were gods and demi-gods here. Perhaps the stormchild could barrel her over, shove her out of the way, protect her.

The filly starts screaming, shrill vocals piercing Hespera's ears in a mind-numbing way. She winces, recoiling slightly, even as the tail sweeps and in a blink of a bird's eye the girl is gone.

Gone.

How so? Even as Hespera's horn pierces the flesh, cutting through to bone, her eyes search frantically for the idiot child still wet behind the ears running around. Unable to fathom the idea that the brindled foal could have teleported, she finally lets it sink in. Since she distracted the kid, she was crushed under a giant claw, and had become a smear of black and white on the ground somewhere. Perhaps it would have been a tragedy, perhaps her heart would've sunk deep in her stomach in pity and shame for not getting the fucking child out of the way, even as she pulls her gore-dripping horn from the scaly beast; but she does not feel. Empty, void of emotion, she turns and contemplates running for the briefest of moments, as the child had suggested. But not now- not after she watched an adolescent whippersnapper die.

Even as she goes through her own small combat, Otienu participates in his fair share's. His beak and claws land on the corner of the mouth, clawing and pecking and scratching whole-heartledly, before he pushes off firmly into the air once more. Young and agile, the cub flits out of the way of the rising claw. Still, the tip of his tail is scorched by the beast's piping hot breath, and he rises higher, riding on the warm thermals, quite like Gaucho.

For a moment the gray griffon rests patiently, hanging in the air, studying the horses below. Even with the pain stinging his tail, he will not stop harrying the monster. With a tip of his charcoal beak, Otienu contemplates a choice of action; his wings beat the steamy air peacefully. Hespera does not need his help, even though he secretly fears for her, and her state of mind. She still doesn't realize she can be hurt, and nothing good will come of that. Pushing the matters out of his mind, feathers swirling, he dives downwards, aiming to flash beneath to the animal's throatlatch, where he would cling and shred the flesh. Despite the high improbability of the griffon actually killing the animal, perhaps he could cause some damage with those sharp little talons of his.

Hespera slipped beneath the draconaid's legs, tossing her head up, hoping to scratch open the belly of the beast with her silver horn.

Sorry, this post could be better- was sort of rushed :c