The cruel Stormwing, the murderer of her friend, was touching his bloodstained claws on Thonkie? Feh, this is the last indignity, the thought raced through Rhia's head like lightning.
She turned to face the Stormwing, with eyes black as night and red as blood, she eyed the monster furiously until he shuddered and visually recoiled at her infamous glare. He bowed his head. Ha, thought Rhia, you aren't even a brave monster, but a cowardly one as well!
Stormwing, she thought angrily, a storm on wings, so that's what you are? No. Whoever said you are like a storm is whack. A storm is all grace and beauty and courage, the taunting of the winds, and although it kills, and seems ferocious, it is not. It gives life-giving rains, sprouting flowers and crops in which we live. Basically, they are all bark, no bite. But, he, the Stormwing, on the other hand, is different. He has no grace or beauty. The worm who doesn't dare to face the sun is Alanna in comparison to him. If he were a real storm, he wouldn't have just thrown off Thonkie; he would have fought on, though his body would surely be battered, as a storm sticks around even when the sun tries to blot it out.
She eyed the Stormwing again. She didn't even have to glare; he cringed at the sight of her eyes resting on him.
She tried to grab the body, but the Stormwing was too quick. I'm not even going to call it a Stormwing anymore; Rhia thought furiously, I'll call it a Joren. (To call someone a Joren in Tortall is the equivalent of 'bitch' in our society)
The Stormwing, voice caked with sorrow (as it should be, Rhia thought gleefully) looked up imploringly into her porcelain eyes, her figure an unforgiving stone. "Please, Rhia, just listen to what I want to say. Do as you want with me afterwards, just listen to my bargain."
She sighed and rolled her eyes; it was impossible to resist those eyes, like when Jim was a puppy.
"Ok, if you go out with me, I'll tell you a secret; something only I know about you. You don't even know it yourself, and it is as true as my wings are steel." She stared at his steel wings, so beautiful, yet so devoid of mercy. She thought about going out with him. She'd rather go out with Jim, and Jim was coarse, hairy, disgusting, had bad eating habits, and drowned you in a tsunami of his slobber anytime you entered a five-foot radius of him!
She cried, "No! I'd rather die! But, I'm not the one who will be doing the dieing here!" She grinned evilly. With a smile, she pulled out her pride and joy- Wintercrest. Wintercrest was the name for her crossbow, which she had been able to fire a bull's-eye from at age 6. Putting in a bolt, she cranked up the crossbow, and aimed for his throat.
"Alright, you Joren, you disgrace to Stormwings, I'm giving you until the count of five to lay off the body or you will find that immortals can die. One." The Stormwing looked nervous. "Two." The Stormwing seemed very anxious. "Three." The Stormwing looked scared and in a state of terror. "Four." The Stormwing looked petrified. "And, Five."
She squinted aiming, and in a state of shock, the Stormwing was paralyzed. She was about to release, when she heard it.
"You're a shifter!" She dropped the crossbow, staring, her mouth in an open 'o' of surprise and complete shock. Taking advantage of the moment, he, Andrew ran to the crossbow. He could barely lift it. After carrying it for two steps, he started panting. "God, how do you fire that thing?" He carried it and put it inside a rotten log thirty feet away, and he lay on the forest floor, tired from his labor. But, he wasn't the only one lying on the forest floor. Rhia lay unconscious, fainted from shock.