It was a whistle that caught her attention, a sound sharp and high among the breeze. Rhiannon paused in her prowl, a wraith among pale, uprooted earth, bristling in agitation with the interruption to her macabre reverie. Giving a lazy roll of the shoulder she twisted her head to narrow a two-toned gaze towards where the unsavory sound had come from. The sun sat proudly overhead, the warmth of the mid-day light warding off the worst of the chill from the fresh autumn breeze. It was unfortunate, really, for Rhiannon thrived in the cold.

What a shitty fucking situation that she found her new home in a desert, then.

Molten-gold and frozen-silver eyes peered across the landscape, the Bellum Steppe, narrowed with disdain and vehement loathing. Frustration, rage, and sorrow had laid coiled beneath her brindled breast since her arrival to this land, to this Novus, fermenting and roosting, building and growing... And the whistle had been the ignition, the light to her already so short of fuse.

Who, the fuck, was whistling?

The Steppe was known for its battles. Rhiannon knew this. She had heard of it, a land where warriors and cowards alike ventured to test their mettle and prowess against whoever was unlucky enough to cross their path. Maybe she had wandered to such a place simply out of desire to re-live past memories, as a soldier to the frozen, snow-capped mountains she had once called home. Maybe, should she find a challenger worthy of her time and effort, she would begin to feel more like herself...

... Or maybe she was just fucking lazy and hot and wanted to take a stroll as far away from the desert as she could possibly find. Who knew? Not her.

A figure stood amidst deformed, upturned earth, stationary, poised, elegant. The brindled devil's eyes narrowed, cold, calculating, teeth gnashing within her maw, and slowly she began her approach. Muscles bunched and stretched, the sashaying stride of her steps languid and lazy, clearly over confident. It was a sensual sort of advance, like a predator stalking its prey, and the closer she grew to the circle where the ghosts of previous soldiers had fought, the easier it was to assess the maiden who awaited in the center.

Beautiful. She was everything that Rhiannon looked for in a woman. Eccentric. Unique. Delicious. Immediately her ire was forgotten, replaced instead by hot, coiling lust. The awaiting vixen stood shorter than the she-devil, her coat a beckoning constellation. Rhiannon could get lost in her, eyes roaming the speckled stars upon dainty, stunning shoulders, down a strong, capable back, and a curvaceous rump that she, quite honestly, wouldn't mind nibbling on. The stranger - but was she? She looked so familiar, so much like home, like mountains, frozen tundras, ice and wind, and hate - was lean and lithe, muscled in all of the right areas. She was limber, capable, and Rhiannon found herself admiring the sleek muscle of her leonine tail and the proud horn that rested upon her brow.

"... You called?" Rhiannon's voice was dipped low, sultry, not even bothering to hide the desire that coated every syllable. Dual-toned eyes flashed dangerously as she finally halted her approach, standing at the opposite end of the war-trodden earth. If it was a battle that the star-crossed maiden wished for, a good scrap in the dirt, then who was Rhiannon to argue?

Slowly a smile, coy and cunning, pulled at dark lips, and the brindled devil slowly lowered her head, the twisted spires of her horns pointed askew. She was larger than the delectable maiden before her, broader in build and muscle, but the stranger was lean with agility on her side. Together they could create quite the dance, full of power and beauty and desire, and Rhiannon found herself eager for what might unfold. Saliva pooled in her mouth, the desire to taste growing, but for now, she would focus on the battle. But why should she? Could she not have both?

Giving a mighty snort and a shake of her head, the unkempt curls of her mane tossing into the wind amidst braids and feathers, Rhiannon pushed off of the earth. Her pace was measured, set at an almost lazy lope the second she moved into motion. The ground was far too dangerous to break out into a full-blown charge, riddled with holes from rodents and uneven surfaces from previous scuffles as it was. Breaking a leg would be a rather moot point.

Head tucked close to her breast, the she-devil crossed the trecherous earth with powerful strides, teeth gnashing as the thrill of the chase filled her lungs, stealing her breath, the desire to just reach out and taste overruling every other action. Showing no signs of slowing, fully intending to make her attack and charge right on by her adversary, Rhiannon lifted her head and snapped her head forward, neck stretching, aiming to bite at the swell of the maiden's left shoulder for her first attack.