Out of the cauldron and into the fire?

There seemed to be no masking (nor any desire to do so), the dislike each respective party had for the other. While the stallion endeavoured to warn his feisty opposition, sliding subtle insults along the way, she’d regarded him with a wearying, glassy eye and a rudely gaping yawn - Valkyrie really didn’t value his minor opinion. His flat tone and pointed glare was altogether unimpressive… And it was too hot to maintain her bother. He spoke on of unicorns - is that what he represented? - and their laughable desire to run horns through her heart; she’d chuckled at this, for his were less than intimidating and it seemed unlikely that they’d break far enough through his own male-ego to find her pretty flesh. Neither was she overly troubled by the suggestion that she be anything short of perfect. The defiant young Shieldmaiden knew well that her very existence spawned from something magical, faultless and flawless, unlike he, who had been cursed with ugly masculinity from the very start. And he was a unicorn… Perhaps her (limited) respect for Roscorro was thinning too; in fact, the whole of the Rift thus far, was rather hard to take seriously. Monsters, males and cities in the sea… Valkyrie’s eyes flicked suddenly towards the stallion’s glinting fleas as they hummed and clicked again into motion. “I don’t care what you call them,” she spat, turning her white ears backwards and watching the vermin scatter from their unclean, wordy host into the shrubbery surrounding. She couldn’t possibly observe them all at once and tucking her rosy chin, shuffled further backwards; the smallest, with a voice overwhelmed by its oncoming plague, leapt with gusto from its perch and slipped quickly beneath the fine weave of her flattened down feathers. The Daughter didn’t notice, she was turning, as was he, and swept away into the whisper of the forest to avoid contamination.

(Exit)