Snippet #2056653

(Post written by quizzicallyquixoticand Wraith)

Klo's left nothing in her wake but corpses and dust. A horse, a dead soldier, and his mount charging off into the night. And where Jerod had escaped her venom before, he was not so fortunate then. Sword skill could do only so much when faced with the savage, feral thing that she could be. For each swing, she was dancing out of the way, whipping about hither and thither in a flow of blue silk and golden curls. Jerod was too well trained for the same, inevitable missteps that had been the end of those like him, and so the fey took matters into her own hands.

When that next swing came, she stepped into him, rather than off to the safety of the side, suffering both a new slice and the brutal bash of gauntlet against her form. In that rage, she was undeterred, and used only his own momentum to catch hold of him wherever her hands might manage the grasp. With that, the creature swung up and onto his back, sandaled feet anchoring her painfully into his ribs or whatever armor he wore that would not protect him. For all that earlier sentiment, he was not even granted the mercy of a swift death, and she tore into his cheek and deeper into his throat before he'd even had the chance to throw her off. She rolled, growling with the first painful contact of her injured shoulder against the ground, before she managed to fling herself back to her feet. By the time she righted herself, the guard had already fallen, and she touched her tongue to blood stained lips before near pitch black gaze had turned on the battle that had erupted around her. None of the sounds that escaped from her were anything something with normal vocal chords should be able to make, and yet she was all but screeching her frustrations, pacing and turning her eyes to the distance in search of that woman who had brought this mess to them in the first place. Her throat belonged to Klo.

Delilah was not unused to conflict... combat, blood and death. She was not, however, used to being on the losing end of that equation. It had taken but moments to rein in the fight of her mount after she had given her command, but it seemed that moments had been all that the winged mutants needed. Lips curled back from pearl white teeth that might not have gone misplaced with fangs, for the feral rage that was bared there and in the flashy ice of her moon washed irises in the fire lit shadows. They were falling around her like flies..or fleeing like the useless coward bastards that they were.

Delilah had never stayed to fight her own battles, once in her life. Her particular pleasure came from the fluttering of the helpless in the grip of her tyranny. When her targets showed resistance, there was not nearly the satisfaction involved. It didn’t take long to figure what the outcome would be. The death throes of Jerod’s horse only presaged what might be her own- and that mount was her only assurance of any hope of flight. There would be nothing so distasteful as falling into the hands of those she had set out to capture.

“Yaw!!..” Her cry lifted above the sounds of battle, as she bit spurs into the side of her horse again, and turned the mare’s nose toward the open desert. She had -some- sense of direction... and enough awareness to know that she was still days of riding away from guarded territory. Somewhere in her mind she sought only to find cover, there would be rocks and crags, ravines, somewhere if she could only ride fast and far enough.

The idea might have had merit, if her potential persuers had not had... well, wings.

Klo's vision was perhaps at its most useful at night, and whatever distance the human had managed to gain, she would not go unmissed. She paced forward and back like predator on that ridge, throwing her hands violently through the air, and making all manner of animal noises. The jarring pain from each movement of her shoulder that was only starting to grow as the heat of battle tempered, and the more she paced and breathed shuddering breaths, the more aware she was of the thing- as if that was all that was keeping her from chasing after the mount. It was why the shaft was ripped free and hurled to the ground, despite the excess damage to muscle and nerves it caused on the way out. She wasn't of a mind to care, yet.

She couldn't chase the human down. That was what mattered, and that might have been the reason violet eyes were searching furiously for the avorian who had played her guard up to this point. Not that she managed any more communication than another, unearthly shriek of a call that ripped through the air above the battle.