"It is well That war is terrible, Or we should get Too fond of it.." -Robert E Lee ¿? The raven. The epitome of vehement potency and unceasing patriotism. She is the embodiment of all other birds, the master, the crux, the magnate of the skies. All other flighted creatures can in no way, equate with her. She is more inordinate not to mention coyer than the others. She is the one who vanquishes and bludgeons the rest, and with her wings outstretched, can sail further beyond than anyone else, reaching quaesitums and desires impalpable to all but her. Whether you have the loyalty of a dog, the heart of a lion, or even the eyes of a hawk, no one can ever match the eagle. War was about to commence, a war that had hit Anathema like a sledgehammer to the nose. Poor, poor beast, for her lack of vigilance did not give her any benefits. The possibilities of raid were unambiguous, and foreshadowing was not inconspicuous. She knew that the gulls had not so neotericly become so feeble, yet did not act toward it. And now, she was inevitably screwed, for she had grown too confident that everyone merely took clemency on the poor shore and didn't dare bring it to shame. Some of her vicinity even engaged in last minute measures, forlornly endeavoring to attain allies which whom they had not even appropriately secured a bond as good as the eagles had already done. Everyone seemed not only a step, but also a leap, skip and bound ahead of them and it was now, by force of coercion, going to be the Gull's obligation to change. Some had called Malice a tyrant, and malicious stag and all the training he had engaged in to be uncivil. But now, they were going to prove her efforts were not in vain, that he really had done something for the majestic ravens, to return them to the elite creatures they once were. War was the ineluctable resolution to the deepest of all conflicts, but something else as well. War was an entire physical and mental testament of strength. But it really was a vicious cycle, for to be the victor of one, one must already have security. It sort of paralleled the laws of survival of the fittest, and the more fit they were, the better they survived. There was no doubt that the fittest one was in this battle, and from the enemy to the victim both could see the result to come. The skies bled a deep vermilion tinge as the sun was reticently suffocated by the phantom-like gobs of gray. They approximated her like elusive killers, and preyed upon her before anyone noticed. She bled throughout the ample, once celestial utopia and the wind caterwauled in horror. A deep, nearly violet tincture seemed to slink forth and the even the bold hard faces of the mountain were blurred with worry. The vicinity was transforming into a place of morose belligerence and Zeus howled with entertainment. The extensive, hay-colored grasses of the meadow danced with looming black contours, whispering and shivering like soldiers watching an advancing army of twice their size. The trees stood naked and defenseless, swaying with melancholy trepidation. The creek cried and moaned as it leaked over the rocks, which usually tickled its surface, but its staccato voice seemed to lack the normal enthusiasm it usually had. No bird or beast stirred, and the usual halcyon trill of the meadowlark and morning dove did not come that evening. The air smelled crisp but it was not the usual, refreshing aroma, but a sort of eerie chill that persuades hairs to rise upon one's body. The air did not have a scent either, which to a beast that relies quite a bit on the sense was disconcerting. It numbed one's nostrils instead of toting the pleasant flavors of jasmine and Lilac that were the last existing before winter...and then ahead, the imagery, the foreshadowing was apparent... ¿? A raven soared high. His coruscating head reflecting a blinding white in total contrast with his dark, luxurious brown feathers. His wings were outstretched, expanding in two overpowering fans that left a somber shadow over the earth. A scream, so high pitched and assertive it could make even the largest predator look upon him in awe; was exerted from his big, light yellow and curved beak. His eyes, golden and scornful in their glare, landed upon the enemy. Fanning his wings together in unison, he dove hastily for a hawk that stood innocently on a branch. Bellowing a piercing cry, he evicted the creature from his own abode, only to return to the meadow and swiftly scoop up a rabbit. Oh the bittersweet vision of irony. Oh, did it matter to Escastia what jeers and jabs Blyx decided to throw at her? Hardly. And then, it came. The ground seemed to shudder and vibrate with the glub of a beating heart, and the earth nearly cracked at the impact. Rocks bounced around uncontrollably and foliage twitched at a certain angle...something big was coming, bigger than anyone could imagine. And then, over the rolling hills of wheat, they came. An entire horde, they all moved their pounding hooves at once and came at a hastily advancing pace over and onto the vicinity of the innocent gulls. It was a horrifying sight for anyone, the immense amount of such powerful creatures all moving at once, it almost seemed as though a god of some sort had descended from the heaven and came roaring and crashing into the land of the humble meadow. Hooves, all in unison, propelled into the granular lithosphere, unearthing Nature's children and persisting to abuse them without relent. The sound was the equivalent to that of a monstrous earthquake as the ground was battered and ravaged and the ardent exertion of air from nare endured from the equine's flaring nostrils. A cloud of dust that seemed to surpass even the ones that resided within the morbid skies elevated behind them, and the damage left at the impact of their hard hooves suggested their unsurpassable power and strength. He seemed to take on a new mentality at the coming of this war, and his anticipation grew with every fluid stride. For anyone, she was probably one of the last one's noticed. Not only her diminutive size of 14.2 hands that was accented imposingly by seemingly endless amounts of thick, compacted brawn that flexed and vellicated below an even more amazing sight. It was her brawn that tended to make her noticed. Her bulky, yet tiny, figure was built steadily and harshly. Her fell was of the equivalence and even exceeding beyond the lightest palomino imagined. Her eyes, they usually held the gentle natured docile ness but were now overshadowed with fierce determination and a surprising amount of truculence. ¿? If one was afraid at the beast in movement, when his haunches came underneath his surging forelegs which locked straight, and a cloud of dust followed his reigning-horse stop, they would be about ready to piss their pants. Rising upon feathered hindquarters, with a vociferous bellow he ascended like a meteor to the sky. His wind-combed mane cataracted in a swirl of labyrinth as his fores struck out at an unperceivable foe. His nostrils flared and eyes rolled with rich sepia and foam was excreted from the corners of his gaping jowl. There was a shudder in the ground as the titan of a beast returned, by law of gravity from where she ascended and let out a stentorian whistle for her adversary... Blyx Your are the victim here I hope you like the glade It shall become your home soon And you read my mind Maybe I should read yours Your words mean nothing, we have our own Raider Which you call a sister. Submit yourself now, Or die in your Attempt to say here... [continued] ¿? Bulwarking vitals she diligently kept her Herculean legs mobile while not allowing her back to face her enemy, anticipating the combat to commence. Lets get it on! I slowly blink the shimmer from my eyes, the expected rush of adrenaline flows throughout my aureate hide. My fellow warrior's attacks are blunt and overused, only a fool would cease to know such. I feel the pounding of my heart as it rages through my chest. It pumps frivolously not in fear, but in excitement. I smile as my foe tucks in her head, proventing herself from my jugular attacks. Ah, Escastia, no worries. Escastia swiveled around, her ears crashing into her skull. She was ready. Always ready, always moving, never idle. The blow to the pissiform is a hard target to reach, especially when the equine is facing backwards. She reaches my calf, giving me a harsh cut for the worst. Ah, my dear, when will you learn? Cuts hurt, but they heal in due time. The best idea is to crack that tiny bone, but luck needs to be with you and times a' wastin'. Now it is my turn, to my benefit that she recently pulls around from her previous attack, I see my chance and lunge. My hind legs rip and thrash out from my body, meeting her jaw and creating a hard kick. As I see it, the jaw is small but I do not fail in creating any damage to the face. I wheel around sharply, only one who is a fool would sit still and keep her back to the opponent. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. A fjord is known for her speed, and her diminutive size. The blow to her shoulder knocked her off balance, yes, and creating a nasty bruise to the side, and creating an even harsher cut to my leg. Now I understand where she is going, now. My leg is weak, I grimace at its pain...but not for to long. Time is everything in a battle. If time isn't on your side...you've lost the game. Since Blyx had stopped, Escastia saw her chance. Lunging she moved swiftly, her lips curled back behind her teeth. her bared ivories glistening a winter white in the tenebrous moonlight. She prepared to snap at her eyes, yet that was only a cover. A cover for her real attack, the lunge at the precious skin betwixt the muzzle. I grab it, indeed, and I tear. I do not tear as in ripping, I am not a superhorse, but I do grind. Grind hard as if chewing grass madly. Pain burns and swells between us, yet it does not pain me to move swiftly. I use my bulk and size to my advantage, pulling her down smoothly. My exultant laughter shows in my eyes as I snap back, my body glistens and brims with sweat. My apical tips remain still and steady. I do not flinch, I move quickly. I leap like a tiger. I am the Spanish Eyes, my muscles tense under my aureate skin. My lips are curled back behind my bared ivories. I regain the position of the dance. The clash of swords. A hirsute blade for the Gulls, a gleaming blade for the Ravens. This was a new leaf, a turning of a golden page, and as she journeyed toward the gull, there she felt there would be a time for mourning, and then again, a time for a reunion between lost fellows. The careful plotting of the lancaster realm was injust; the skirting trees drew clusters of bramble and poison berries over your path, and the crunching of dry sticks lead to your composure and disposure; the heath-like leaves and dew that fell from the trees was like an evening walk in the rain. Your move Gull I anticipate it .EsCaStIa. .cApTaIn and SeNtInEl of RaVeNgLaDe. .InTeLlIgEnCe DiLiGeNcE dOmInAnCe. I am Melting The Snowfields...