elif
Where Elif would hesitate, waiting until somebody (their queen, or their god, or even one of the elk) makes the correct decision clear, in the end the black stranger chooses for her.
He dives for one of the winter-blue beasts, and Elif, not to be outdone, follows suit.
Oh, she does not attack as he does; she has neither the bulk nor the blood-lust. But she dives in close to the creatures, buffets her wings in their faces, slashes with her hooves as she dances just over their heads. All the while the wind helps her, as it can; it bears up her wings, it fights against the snow and ice that streams from the herd’s mouths.
She dares not touch down onto the ground; she is small enough that she knows she might be trampled. But she also forgets her distractions, man and god alike, and sets her teeth against the winter and her heart into the chaos.
