In the past, Ambrosia had only thought she’d been tired. In reality, the coffee-and-licorice lady had never experienced true exhaustion until her battle with the blond vampire bastard. Their tussle had been fierce. Bloody. Positively primal, dredging up every last spark of abject hatred stored like a ticking bomb within Ambrosia’s chest. She had stumbled upon the awful scene - the parasite with his jaws slick, two youngsters dead at his feet - and fireworks exploded inside of her. Energy hummed through her limbs as if her nerves had been replaced with crackling live wires. Ambrosia had not thought about her attacks, not knowingly planned the moves that eventually turned the tide in her favor - she simply acted on instinct, allowing her physicality to transform her into a deadly snarling weapon. Teeth tore into flesh. Claws shredded past hair. Perhaps her victory had been pure luck. Maybe the disgusting devil had simply miscalculated, or was too bloated from his evil meal to counter her ruthless assault. But finally Ambrosia ripped his jaw clean off - eaten into his throat, killed him - and taken his tail as her personal trophy. Adrenaline still sang its intoxicating music through each and every vein when she reached the borders of Dierne Hrof at last, her double oceans practically shimmering with dominance. What had happened after that? Had someone escorted her in, seeing her wounds and understanding what had happened? Or had Ambrosia fallen right outside the gates, blacking out before anyone could help her? Because there was definitely a lost span of time, at least a full day, in which the Tempest remembered nothing at all. Her weariness seeped past her bones and into her core. All Ambrosia wanted to do was curl into a ball… sink into the earth… and sleep for the rest of eternity. Living felt impossible. It took too much effort to breathe.

So why was she back to patrolling so soon after her trial by fire? Ambrosia had never been a quiet one, not a female to laze about. That was unimaginably boring. So in spite of her concrete-heavy limbs and her dragging lungs, the peaceful evening found her skimming Dierne Hrof’s outer edges, senses alert for any changes that deserved her attention.

Changes like… the older femme Adara exiting toward the flower fields. And following that faint trail, the pretty and slightly floral perfume of Adara’s ward, Zawyne. What the hell? Curious as to what would bring the two faes outside the pack - at NIGHT, no less - Ambrosia shrugged and traced her paws down the path.

Later, the callow gladiator would thank the stars for her decision.

Ambrosia hardly registered the roaring dervish of violence tearing up the field in the distance - her wide eyes riveted at once upon the injured Arcus Irae, her powerful Tempest instincts kicking in and launching her like a dark rocket toward Zawyne. Distantly, beneath the savage pounding of her heart and the exponentially rising urge to kill and protect and main and defend, the teenage warrior felt shocked that a creature so colorful as the rainbow could bleed such… an ordinary color. Typical bright red blood against impossible shades of the sunset. Ambrosia had half-expected Zawyne to have silver in her veins, or some other hue to match how vividly her fur glimmered in the unnatural twilight veiling the sky. Paws flew over bobbing blossoms and waving grass, carrying her between the thinning trees of the surrounding forest. The raking cacophony of snarls and screeches erupting from Adara and the vampire spurred Ambrosia to run faster, faster, desperate to reach the wolf her kind was meant to protect -

She almost collided with Zawyne as the young rainbow ran from the horrific scene. The Arucs Irae princess shook, distraught, hardly able to breathe past her rivering tears. Ambrosia, rather than attempting to stop her, switched her stride to instead run alongside the sun-spotted lass. Blazing sapphires scanned the side of Zawyne’s neck as they both bolted; other than some ugly slashes marring the waving fur of her neck, the damsel appeared otherwise unharmed. She’ll be able to make it to Dierne Hrof okay… “Zawyne, does Adara need help?” The pair was rapidly moving back away from the battle; Ambrosia experienced a terrible, aching tug on her heartstrings as half her mind ordered her to follow Zawyne and the other compelled her to fight. The brindled brutale had killed a vampire on her own, right? Wouldn’t she be helpful now? And yet with Zawyne hysterical, Ambrosia cringed at the thought of allowing the Arcus Irae to continue on alone. A frustrated growl shuddered in her throat. “Please, Zawyne…?”

Ambrosia glanced anxiously over her shoulder. And that’s when she saw the black demon racing after them, his twin rubies glowing like dying coals in the dark of night. Behind him… ice spiked her vasculature at the sight of Adara’s silvery frame swaying unsteadily, finally drifting - almost gently - to the earth while her life gushed from a mortal wound punctured into her throat. Every striped hackle on her nape prickled upright. In an instant, the Tempest understood that the monster chasing them was utterly unlike the leech she’d slain in the woods only recently. Her body moved without her consciously having to flex. In an instant she dove between Zawyne and the approaching vampire, unhinging her jaws to let loose a high shrieking call to war.