AmaLiA
Safrin's shield
Amalia had been thoroughly surprised to be invited to a sparring match with Loren, especially given how disastrously their last attempt to do this panned out. Still she arrives at the assigned place and time, her new skin glistening in the Flowerbirth sun, long horns coiling above a regal head, scales lining her neck and back as she looks upon the mage.
Anything goes feels once again questionable, but Loren has turned away before she has the chance to do much more than pulse the silent equivalent of a shrug, cloven hooves shifting anxiously on conjured steps of cloud. The declaration of ulterior motives earns something of a glittering, musical quasi-laugh: I can't say I'd be much help with that. He's a far better fighter than me, too.
All of this, though, is simple preamble, the build up to an inevitable clash, and Loren does not waste time on pleasantries. The blast of water takes Amalia by surprise; not expecting so abrupt an onslaught, she can do little except turn toward the side, taking the brunt of the spray to her shoulder. With a barked bellow of surprise the qilin blinks her great eyes rapidly, her attention now focused squarely on retaliation.
Too far to do much damage on her own, Amalia calls upon those she might treat as friends, a similar act to her last battle with her lover. This time, though, she reaches to the sky, calling to nearby starlings and sparrows and suggesting that Loren may be an optimal target upon which to empty their bladders and their bowels.
At the same time she springs to the side, her lithe body moving swiftly and (hopefully) unpredictably around the summoner- though her long tail flicks back in an attempt to swat his face playfully, its lush tuft of lilac fur soft and unignited - for now.
Anything goes feels once again questionable, but Loren has turned away before she has the chance to do much more than pulse the silent equivalent of a shrug, cloven hooves shifting anxiously on conjured steps of cloud. The declaration of ulterior motives earns something of a glittering, musical quasi-laugh: I can't say I'd be much help with that. He's a far better fighter than me, too.
All of this, though, is simple preamble, the build up to an inevitable clash, and Loren does not waste time on pleasantries. The blast of water takes Amalia by surprise; not expecting so abrupt an onslaught, she can do little except turn toward the side, taking the brunt of the spray to her shoulder. With a barked bellow of surprise the qilin blinks her great eyes rapidly, her attention now focused squarely on retaliation.
Too far to do much damage on her own, Amalia calls upon those she might treat as friends, a similar act to her last battle with her lover. This time, though, she reaches to the sky, calling to nearby starlings and sparrows and suggesting that Loren may be an optimal target upon which to empty their bladders and their bowels.
At the same time she springs to the side, her lithe body moving swiftly and (hopefully) unpredictably around the summoner- though her long tail flicks back in an attempt to swat his face playfully, its lush tuft of lilac fur soft and unignited - for now.
& once again I shall kiss the sky
