Firestone Hot Springs viiii. i was born to fight, to rage, to war

It sparks again as amber clashes with lilac - that hardened glint in his eye that speaks of derision, of something hateful. 

Despite herself, the wisp turns away first - gaze dropping as her mind raced back, wondering where exactly they'd gone wrong. There'd been tension upon first sight, of course, both thinking the other to be a thief but Rhælla's almost certain she was perfectly polite afterwards.

At least until he took to ignoring me in favor of barking single-word orders but who wouldn't that annoy? 

Rhælla couldn't pinpoint anything she might have said - at least aloud - to warrant such hostility which only further likens him to her disgusting ex-husband and increases the anxiety beginning to boil over. 

It flutters numbly in her paws, creeping up her limbs to strangle her breath in her throat, trap it in her lungs as constriction wraps around the thin barrel of her chest. Please, no, not now, she begs of her gods inwardly, hunched and silent at the male's side - frozen, glassy eyes locked on the horizon for fear he will recognize the agitation threatening to attack her. A single focus keeps her together: don't let him see you like this, don't let him think you weak.

The sight of the fawn and the rush of air as he vanishes from her side, brings the young woman's gaze snapping upwards - locking on the fawn as she swallowed heavily, tamping down the panic attack as she hastened after on trembling limbs. 

No time for that now. Just get through it, get away from him, find somewhere to go - somewhere to bury it all back down where it belongs.

She pads after silently, having received her instructions already, and slips from his side only to conceal herself nearby - lavender orb tracking the fawn's movements hungrily through the cover of grass.

Within moments the brute has reappeared, bursting from the scattered stone to snatch the young grazer up in his jaws seemingly before it even realized it was in peril. Blinking slightly in surprise at the male's prowess (and admittedly impressed), the noxborn is quick to dash out and join him - lest that nasty look in his gaze worsen with its next pass should she fail to fulfill her role. 

The nightwisp nimbles to the side, curving around and dipping beneath the underbelly - jaws tearing deeply as a spray of blood and visceral matter rained along her nape, her spine. 

She has only just begun to back away, wanting to move from the dangers of flailing hooves now that her task was complete to attack along the fawn's ribcage, when the sight of a dark shape in her peripherals moves through the air, sending the femme recoiling though not quickly enough. 

The hoove strikes the soft, malleable flesh of her temple, sending pain lancing through her skull as the world went dark.