"Os'iirus, this... is going to be the most fun we've had in... ages."

The animal beneath him snorted and let out a squeal that wasn't quite equine, but not quite... predator... then began to crab-step to the side. The sands here smelled wrong, felt wrong, and to an animal that saw in full color, perhaps better than most, the colors were completely bizarre. Light from two suns, not just one, struck the shimmering grains and caused a spectrum effect. Shards of color lanced off into the distance and vanished under hooves while black grains slid off Os'iirus' wide, scoop-shaped cloven hooves and slithered underfoot.

Nostrils flared as the wind picked up and carried on it the smells of the Oasis and the horse's lips peeled back to reveal a mouthful of sharp teeth that rivalled anything found on the Kin. As it began inhaling the scents of those gathering for the race, onyx eyes rolled as the alpha stallion began to rebel against it's rider's wishes. Os'iirus had been fed immediately before leaving, but beastial greed compelled him to want to hunt and greed in a Lathian horse could almost always override caution.

Daemonorel's fingers tightened on the black leather reins and hauled back on the stallion's head, and the beast wheeled around in a complete circle while the Black on its back fought for control. Teeth dripping drool snapped at Daemon's shins as Os'iirus flung his head down and to the side in an attempt to jerk the reins from the Captain's fingers and was rewarded with a sharp kick to his nose for his efforts.

The apparent disagreement between the two continued only moments more and finally Os'iirus either grew bored or decided to save his energy for later, but regardless, the two rode into the large encampment that surrounded the oasis. In the wake of the pair could be heard equine snorts of alarm and the dull thuds of hooves as the animals grew nervous in the presence of predators.

Daemonorel swung from the back of the Lathian horse and landed on the black sands with a crunch of leather boots on soil. With long reins well in hand, Daemon and Os'iirus made their way to the nearest water, despite the darkly curious looks cast their way.

Raven hair was tossed gently in a playful breeze as Silverthorn stood slightly apart from the crowds that were beginning to gather for the race. Jade eyes thoughtful, the elven woman watched as her son saddled the Black Obsidian that was his mount, a golden-haired elf-maid at his side. So Meghan had decided to try her luck at dissuading Fechine, the Tauremornan had wondered if she would, although evidently it was so far without a great deal of success. Idly she wondered if it would just be easier to hit the boy around the head with something heavy, it worked sometimes with his father anyway.

The breeze that continually brought the melange' of people and horses, sand and water to Daemon and Os'iirus' noses carried on it a scent that tickled a memory in the back of Daemon's mind, a familiar smell... metallic... steel. Blood and sweat. The scent of a female that almost reminded him of... then he picked out the smell of Drow AND of Elves. Too late though, his head had already turned, seeking the source of the scent, and Oz had snapped his head up with a low growl, nostrils flared, elves were lunch and he didn't particularly care if there was Drow OR a blade involved. To him, it was like black pepper and salt on bland food. Spice that made it worth eating.

It was the growl that warned her, a dagger falling smoothly into her hand before she had even thought about it. Spinning around, Silverthorn found herself face to face with a carnivorous muzzle, the tip of her blade pricking into the skin. "Drool on me, try to eat me or generally piss me off and I swear you'll be horsemeat," she grated. The raven-haired elf had seen these beasts before. They came from... the Diirlathe...

Jade eyes travelled involuntarily away from the horse. "Well, well... been let out of your cage for the day, have you?" she drawled coolly.

Os'iirus' head jerked up with a snap and his eyes rolled, revealing the whites and thick, foul-smelling drool began to drip in soft splats near Silverthorn's boots. The desire to take a hunk out of this elf's shoulder was almost overwhelming, just for spite. Only Daemonorel's grip on the bridle held him back. As his muzzle descended, Daemon's fingers jerked his head sharply to the side.

"Aww, he just wants to play, Silverthorn," The Captain's sandy blonde hair ruffled as the breeze whirled past them, "Watch the teeth though, he has a nasty bite. The infection sets in within hours, but the dying part takes days." Moss green eyes narrowed as he watched her with a hooded glance. Let him out of his cage? Gods damned arrogant elves. His expression was disdainful, aloof, but inside, he was seething. A twisted, malicious grin pulled up one corner of his mouth and turned his fair, fresh-faced features into something else entirely. Hate and Rage mingled together in his voice as his fingers tightened around the leather strap of Os'iirus' bridle.

"Be careful, Is'iis. Oz isn't the only one that would just as soon have you for dinner, rather than tolerate your presence."

A raven brow rose. "Well, you know what they say about biting off more than you can chew. I'm not that easy to make a meal out of," the raven-haired elf replied coolly, the dagger lowering slightly as she took a single step back. Her expression was cool, apparently unperturbed by the virulent loathing all too visible on the sandy-haired Captain's features.

Inwardly her emotions were far less serene, his grated words triggering a response that rippled down her spine. Gods! What had she been thinking? Heated memories flashed through her mind of a dream she had all but buried; hands running over her skin, a husky voice in her ear, the feel of warm skin beneath her hands, her nails scoring down his back.

She truly was losing it. She had to be. Him of all people.

"Oh, I don't know," Daemonorel angled his head to the side, as if sizing her up, "I'm sure with just the right approach," the First Captain leaned slightly closer, enough so that only a foot or so separated them, "you wouldn't stand a chance, but then, that would take time and consideration, neither of which I have to spend on the likes of you." Murky green eyes shifted to the exposed tips of her Elven ears. He drew in a deep breath as he rocked back on his heels and considered her, then became aware of a dull ache located over his left shoulder blade. His hateful smile shifted to a near-grimace of pain as the ache seemed to grow and spread through his flesh like a bloom of fire from a hot coal embedded between skin and bone.

A mark of faith...

He hadn't forgotten the encounter with Nysus almost a year ago, but what he had forgotten was the sensation of being alone with another woman when the goddess had kissed him. It had been like an erotic dream, leaving him tantilizingly on the brink of satisfaction, so close he could feel the dull throb of pending release, just one thrust more... then he'd awakened.

The dream, like those sort tended to do, had faded in time, dismissed and the woman he'd been so aroused by forgotten as well, written off as a result of oxygen deprivation during a near drowning.

There is a reason for it all...

Suddenly, the same feeling of discomfort Silverthorn was experiencing was filtering through Daemonorel. Eyes suddenly wary, the Black Captain began shifting his weight and backing away from the elven woman.

"There's always a chance, that's what makes the game so entertaining, the possibility that the prey can evade your grasp." Jade eyes narrowed watchfully, noting the sudden grimace of pain and the resulting wariness, the raven-haired elf attempting to ignore the lingering sensation of warmth low in her body and the faint scent that teased at her as the breeze swirled about them. A feral smile curled her lips. "Of course, what you have to ask yourself is who is the hunter and who is the hunted?" Her voice dropped to a soft, taunting murmur, "are you as much in control as you think you are, Daemonorel?"

Daemon's back step suddenly paused as the pain flared and left him rolling his shoulder. As he watched her, he slowly ground his head to the side and rolled his aching shoulder again and received a satisfying pop and crackle of vertebrae down his spine.

"I think I'll keep what I like and don't like in a hunt to myself, elf. And how much control I am under, or have, is no concern of yours." To his disgust, his voice came out slightly husky as his body reacted to the surfacing memory of this woman's body beneath his, writhing with ecstasy and willing to return the pleasure and pain of the moment. The burning of his shoulder blade seemed to spread and become something far different, something he neither wanted or needed. Lust mingled with the need for companionship was a powerful temptation... and something he had no use for.

Before he spoke again, he cleared his throat and jammed one foot in the stirrup, then vaulted with the ease of someone long accustomed to riding horses of any kind, "I'd ask you if you're racing, but since I don't see anything between your legs or on a leash for you to ride, I'm assuming the answer is no?"

A low laugh spilled from Silverthorn's mouth, her lips curling into a smile that was filled with wicked mockery. "Running away, Captain?" she teased, letting her knowledge of just how uncomfortable he was fill her jade eyes. Somehow she knew him, could read the discomfort in his posture and the wariness of his expression. It was a feeling she didn't want to scrutinise too closely, not when dream-like images still tugged at her memory, heightening her awareness of every move he made, but she wasn't above using the knowledge it gave her if she had to. "But in answer to your question, no. I am not competing, merely spectating. I'm leaving the racing to my son this year."

"Running?" Daemonorel's fingers pulled at the reins and forced Os'iirus' head and jaws down and back. In response, the animal began crunching against the bit and reluctantly took two, then three mincing steps backward, "No, just keeping Oz from killing and eating someone now." There was a soft snort of a grunt that came from the First Captain as his eyes lifted and scanned the throng of people and horse-flesh, "Fechine is a little... young... to be in this sort of race." Beneath the Black, the Lathian stallian shifted and began side-stepping in an effort to go somewhere, even if it was left or right, rather than forward. The animal's motions brought him around Silverthorn and to her side, slightly downwind of the assassin elf.

"Tell you what... Is'iis" A cruel expression crept across his face, as he drawled out the name, "I'll make certain, if I run across him out there," His head jerked to the horizon, "injured, that he doesn't suffer... much." Low laughter welled up in him as a rogue breeze swirled around Silverthorn and eddied about before ruffling Oz' forelock, mane, then washing across Daemonorel. Moss green eyes widened, then narrowed almost immediately as something new came to his attention.

Not only did she smell very much like a female, but masked beneath the cool expressions, buried away from public view, she was a female whose body, at some point after he'd first run across her here, had reacted much like his. Her scent betrayed her, it was there, faint but there, the smell of a woman who wanted to be bedded... and most likely by him given the fact that her body-chemistry had changed at some point since meeting her here.

The thought disturbed him more than even he would let on, given his own inclinations and the dreams that had finally stopped haunting him, until now. A single nerve twitched along Daemonorel's jaw and rippled up a long, red slash, a scar left by Delphinia Datari that was fading more and more everyday, and ran along his cheekbone.

"I think its time to line up." With a ruthless spur to Oz's flanks that may or may not have been necessary, Daemonorel forced the animal to move around Arianne Badb Catha. He had to get away from her, and it had to be now. He knew this scent, remembered it well, blood and steel, lust and hate, sweat and pain, they all reminded him of Nysus... the single goddess he still had faith in.

The Goddess of War and Destruction...

"I think that might be wise." The dark-haired elf's voice dropped to an oddly soft tone, a predatory purr of sound, her jade eyes flashing dangerously. "A word of warning though, Daemonorel. Touch Fechine, injured or not, and I guarantee you will wish for death by the time I have finished with you." The smile that curled Silverthorn's lips was feral, "Just so you know." Turning on her heel, she walked away.