//------------------------------// // 1-6 // Story: The Sparrow in the Storm // by The 24th Pegasus //------------------------------// High above the earth, the only sound was the wind. The wind, and the rattling of armor. Typhoon held her wings out at her sides and glided on a rising thermal, taking the momentary reprieve to work some of the soreness out of aching muscles. Apart from the constant gusts at altitude blowing against her ears, the only other sound to accompany her solo flight was the clicky-clack-clatter of the scaled blades on her wings. The metal plates jangled together with a muted din as the wind got between them and shifted them around, and the little motions she made to keep her balance during her flight only added to the hushed cacophony. It was also hot up in the sky, flying under the weight of heavy metal armor, but it was nothing Typhoon wasn’t used to. Though the ravages of time had stolen much of the youthful vigor that once carried her through the campaigning days of her youth, a lifetime in service to the Legion had blessed her with endurance even at an old age that could give an earth pony a run for her money. Uncomfortable and draining on her stamina as it was, Typhoon knew it was better than the alternative: getting caught in the open sky without her armor, and being a dragon’s breath or a swat from a claw away from a quick and violent death. There were clouds up at altitude, and Typhoon picked one that looked solid and changed her course to alight on it. Her steel-shod hooves sank an inch into its puffy surface when she landed, but the floating platform was a welcome reprieve from hard flying. It gave her a chance to sit and survey the land far below her, and her ruby red eyes slowly scanned over everything, taking in every little detail for as far as they could see. West, back the way she had flown, was the town of Green Glade, nestled in its pocket in the forest. Apart from the odd farm or house in forest clearings here and there, it was the only sign of civilization for miles in that direction. Typhoon wondered how much of the land she was looking at the dragoness had claimed as her own fiefdom. What invisible borders marked the end of Firestorm’s influence and the start of de jure Equestrian land? She looked north. She was in the wilderness, the untamed frontier beyond the reach of Equestria’s control. The river that ran through Green Glade twisted and turned as it went to the east and then jogged north. That river ran past the abandoned Legion fort many miles away, somewhere beyond the horizon, and beyond that, its headwaters started somewhere within Equestria’s borders. But when did Typhoon leave those borders behind? Did it even matter anymore if there was nopony out here to enforce them? How far would she have to fly back north to return to Equestria’s rule of law, to land it had legitimate control over? Her eyes scanned over her shoulder to the south. She had been flying this direction for some time now. Anything to put distance between herself and Everfree, where the unicorn queen ruled over her crumbling nation. Anything to put miles upon miles between herself and that city, and the demons it held and enemies it sheltered. Traveling so long to the south made her understand just how much Equestria’s rule of law had collapsed with the Legion gone. She noted with some disgust that a small part of her felt satisfied at that. What word did the griffons use to describe that feeling? Schadenfreude? Queen Platinum had brought the country’s current ruination down upon herself, and with the Legion gone, her throne was getting harder to sit upon. But Typhoon wasn’t far beyond Equestria’s southern borders to worry about the dethroning of its queen. She looked back to the east, where a crimson tyrant treated the helpless ponies under her scaly claws like slaves to be worked to death for her profit. The land became rugged the further east she looked, with the forests and hills giving way to sparsely wooded rocky outcroppings. The land was too poor and difficult to access for most ponies, and the distance from the river would have made it an unappealing site for a settlement. On top of that, it was likely a haven for monsters—even from this far away, Typhoon could see the colossal remains of an old roc nest, and the giant birds were almost as dangerous as a dragon for a lone pony. She wondered if Firestorm had chased the roc away when she set up her den, or if the bird was gone by the time she’d made this stretch of the country her home. It was a shame the roc was gone, though; with a little bit of planning, Typhoon might have been able to get the roc and the dragon to fight, and the problem would have all but solved itself. It took her some time to scan through the rugged terrain for the dragon’s lair, but after a few minutes of searching, she settled on a likely candidate. A couple miles into the cliffs and canyons was a rocky shelf that would provide an ideal place for a dragon to land on, situated right next to what Typhoon suspected was the entrance to a cave. On top of that, the vegetation that clung to the rocks around that cave was withered and brown, likely scorched dead from the heat and noxious fumes filling a dragon’s lair. It was hardly some marquise’s palace, but it might as well have been a castle all the same. It would take an army to storm the den and slay the monster inside, and even still, not a lot of soldiers would survive the ordeal. And Typhoon was about to fly into it by herself. “You’re trying to kill yourself, aren’t you?” she muttered to herself as she tried to piece together a plan. “Can’t live with your failures in Everfree?” The old soldier gave her head a rough shake to scatter those thoughts away. They were distractions, and she needed to focus if she had any hope of flying out of that cave alive when all was said and done.  Closing her eyes, Typhoon thought back to a time when she was a younger mare, still in the prime of her life. She had fought dragons before with her century, but the circumstances were markedly different. Legion training for fighting dragons was to never make a move on their home turf, use a pegasus’ greater speed and smaller size to zip around the monster and out of the range of its claws, and to use hit and run attacks to minimize the risk of getting struck by a lucky swing. And of course, there was the fire breath, the most dangerous part of fighting a dragon. Even a near-miss would singe and shrivel feathers and send a pegasus plummeting to her death. And it was a lot harder to dodge a dragon’s breath when it was a one-on-one fight. Typhoon exhaled sharply through her nose and opened her eyes. There weren’t a lot of options, but if anything Bluegrass had told her was true, then there was no chance of trying to resolve the situation with talk—not that she would have tried, anyway. Dragons were vain creatures by nature, and if one of them had assumed a pony noble title to lord over the helpless towns within the reach of its lair, there was even less of a chance that it would be moved by reason, especially coming from a single mare. Force was the only thing likely to get the response Typhoon wanted out of it, so force it would be. Setting off from her cloud, Typhoon gained even more altitude as she began to approach the dragon’s lair. Altitude would be her friend in more ways than one. It would help keep her concealed until she was ready to strike, the dragon would struggle to carry her heavy reptilian body into thinner air, and Typhoon could readily trade height for speed. Positioning would be half the battle. Unfortunately for the solitary pegasus, the other half would be decided by luck. When she was finally in position, she pushed another cloud towards the den to serve as her observation post. She had guessed right when she singled out the cliff shelf as a potential target for Firestorm’s lair; now that she was closer to it, she could clearly see the cavernous maw of stone leading deeper into the rugged rocky terrain. The smell of sulfur hung in the air, leaving the mare to crinkle her nose in disgust. But there was no movement on the ground below her, no shimmer of red scales under the midday sun. Typhoon might have been the only living thing around for miles, save for the dragon deep in her lair. That was good, at least. Far away from civilization, there wouldn’t be any other ponies who could get caught in the battle about to unfold. Though on that thought, Typhoon frowned at the dragon’s den beneath her. If Firestorm wasn’t out in the open, then how was Typhoon supposed to fight the dragon on her terms? Taking the fight to the dragon’s lair would be suicidal. In such a confined space, her speed and agility would mean little. But, from what she remembered of the size of the dragon, Firestorm would have to come out to hunt sooner or later. Dragons that large needed to feed regularly, and if the poor frontier towns she was lording over couldn’t provide her with a regular stream of gemstones to snack upon, she’d have to find other things to eat, like manticores. And if the dragon didn’t feel like emerging to hunt until later in the evening, that gave Typhoon plenty of time to prepare. She looked around, noting the large number of clouds lazily drifting in on the wind, and a plan began to form… ----- When the grand and majestic Marquise Firestorm, Lady of the Southron Villages awoke from her nap, her first thought was that she must have overslept. As slitted golden eyes turned toward the entrance to her den, she was surprised to find only dull gray light filtering in, and not the reds and golds of the approaching sunset. She frowned and stood up, stretching great crimson wings, the small mound of pony gold she slept on jingling as it fell free of her softer underbelly scales. She looked around her den, at the hoard of treasures she’d amassed, and the wagon of her subjects’ latest tithe sitting by the corner. She’d spend some time to sort through it later, maybe after she’d filled her stomach. It was hard to keep herself satisfied with the wealth she was collecting off of her subjects. Wealth was power, and the more she amassed, the larger she grew, and the stronger she became. Maybe it was time to find another pony town to put under her protection… Long, sharp claws scraped and clacked against stone as the dragoness climbed up the ramp and out of her den. When she emerged into the open air, however, her scaled brow lowered in a frown. Gray clouds hovered all around her den, heavy and fat with rain, like a storm was about to break at any second. Wasn’t the sky clear and blue with only a few clouds earlier when she first returned from her latest excursion? Where did this storm come from? Firestorm spread her great leathery wings and flapped them a few times, building up the energy to take her heavy reptilian body off the ground. It didn’t help that there was no wind, only a slight breeze. If there was a storm coming, she would have expected there to be more wind. But it was like the heavy gray clouds had all gathered around her den and then stopped, waiting for her to emerge. It was ominous, foreboding, and something about it made her scales crawl. Still, she was a dragon, the queen of the skies and the terror of all who cowered under her shadow. There was nothing foreboding to a dragon, a creature of fire and fury who could kill with ease. She was the Marquise, and her hold over her subjects was absolute. They would serve her faithfully or perish. A sharp pain suddenly sliced across her left wing, and the Marquise let loose a roar that was more surprise than it was agony. Her flight faltered for a moment, and when she looked back at her wing, the leather between two of its fingers was slashed and bleeding. To her surprise, crystals of frost lined the fresh wound, though the heat coming off of her body quickly melted it away. Before she could react, a similar slashing pain struck her right wing, and Firestorm roared and bared her teeth. She swore she saw a shadowy silhouette slip into the grayness of the clouds around her, and out of rage, she let loose a bellow of fire in the direction she thought she saw it flee. The scalding heat quickly dispersed the clouds in front of her, but there was nothing else to show for her efforts. “Leave these lands,” a voice called out from the storm. It seemingly came from everywhere at once, yet also nowhere, making it impossible to pinpoint its origin. “The ponies of Equestria are not yours to rule over. Leave now, or be prepared to fight.” It was a pony’s voice, and that made the Marquise’s blood boil. “Coward!” she roared into the storm, and she started to climb in altitude to find the vile creature that would dare assault her person. “You dare challenge me? You ponies are vermin, fit only to serve your betters. And I have staked my claim to these lands!” “Then defend it,” came the pony’s voice once more, and the clouds around Firestorm began to rumble with thunder. But rather than wait for the next attack, the dragoness inhaled sharply, filling her massive lungs with oxygen, and let loose a torrent of fire in every direction. Far above the raging dragon… Typhoon looked down from her perch in the clouds, the dragon’s blood dripping off of the scaled blades she wore on her wings. Clipping Firestorm’s wings as best she could before announcing her intentions to fight was an invaluable advantage, slowing the clumsy lizard down even more, but she watched with concern as the dragon’s fiery breath burned away the storm clouds she had assembled for cover. They wouldn’t last too long at this rate, so she needed to do what damage she could before it was all gone. Giving the cloud beneath her a good kick with her metal prosthetic, Typhoon launched herself into the air as the storm she assembled began to rumble. Apart from a quick spin to align herself with the dragon, Typhoon hardly opened her wings, letting gravity build up her speed as she descended on Firestorm. She once more targeted Firestorm’s wings, knowing her bladed crests weren’t long enough or sharp enough to cut through the dragon’s armored hide, and just before impact, she pulled her wings away from her sides and braced them as best she could. The large scales at their crests hit first, the flutes on the scales gouging deep wounds into the membrane on Firestorm’s right wing, while the successive scales widened the wound and turned it into a ragged tear. The dragon’s blood splattered against Typhoon’s neck and sides, seeping into her feathers and making them unpleasantly stick together. But the old soldier was used to the bloody business of combat, and she powered through it to once more turn her energy into altitude to set up another strike. Or at least, that was what she wanted to do. But a chunk of flesh from Firestorm’s wing had jammed itself in between the scales of her bladed wing, preventing the pegasus from opening it fully as she came out of her dive. Gritting her teeth, Typhoon stuck her opposite wing out as far as she could and angled it ever so slightly, immediately launching herself into a dizzying corkscrew to eject the bloody mass out of the blades of her wing. Centrifugal force took over from there, and in the span of a few seconds, both her wings were usable again, and she began to climb. But the unexpected change of her flight plan had denied her a clean getaway, and Firestorm hissed and roared as she finally trained draconian eyes on her assailant. “Legion!” she shouted in rage, and her massive wings, bloodied as they were, sent her lunging after the retreating pony before Typhoon could get her altitude back. “Blight on the nests! Smashers of eggs! I will jam my claw into your beating heart and tear it out through your entrails!” Fire followed her words immediately after, and Typhoon had to quickly roll to the side to avoid turning into a ball of fire plummeting out of the sky. Still, it was close enough that it made the hairs on her tail curl from the heat, but a tingle ran through her mane a moment later and her hair began to stand on end. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a brilliant flash of light arced out of the clouds around her, and Firestorm’s shriek behind her told the soldier that the lightning had found its mark. When she looked over her shoulder, however, the red dragon had recovered from the strike, with only a charred black spot on her nose for all the trouble Typhoon had gone through to set up the storm. The pegasus cursed to herself and used the heat from the dragon’s scalding breath to try and climb a little faster. Firestorm’s fiery breath had broken up the storm before Typhoon could coax a lightning bolt out of it, and as such, the bolt the clouds finally did give her was far weaker than she had hoped. Wheeling about, Typhoon swiftly switched tactics and charged directly at Firestorm while she was still recovering from the lightning strike. She’d lost too much energy on the last attack and dodging away from Firestorm’s fire breath, and she didn’t have a good chance of both outclimbing the dragon and not being burned alive, not while she was weighed down by her heavy armor. The dragon’s big wings, wounded as they were from her attacks, would give her the advantage in a straight line, so fleeing was out of the question. The only recourse left was to try and close to a knife-fight, getting inside of the dragon’s attacks and assail her wings and stomach while using her small size and speed to stay out of danger. Before she could close to melee range, however, Firestorm recovered from the lightning strike and locked Typhoon in her slitted eyes. Her throat filled with an orange glow as she inhaled, and then a torrent of fire was heading Typhoon’s way. There wasn’t enough time to dodge it, so instead the only thing Typhoon could do was tap into her deep reserves of pegasus magic in an effort to withstand the blast. The old soldier gasped as she channeled her ice magic to do so, the painful memories that fueled it momentarily jumping to the front of her mind before she pushed them into her wings, and in the blink of an eye, Typhoon had turned herself into a missile encased in ice that plunged straight through the dragonfire. She maintained her concentration until the bright yellow light around her disappeared, and then with a grunt and an arch of her back, she burst out of the dripping remnants of her icy shell and ripped her frost-laden sword from its scabbard in one violent motion. Firestorm could only blink in surprise at the emergence of the pegasus unscathed from her fiery breath, and so utterly failed to react before Typhoon spun around and drove the frozen point of her sword into the side of the dragon’s face. The impact of the enchanted weapon punched through the thin scales lining Firestorm’s upper jaw and sliced through seven scales before Typhoon wrenched it free as she sailed past the dragon’s head, leaving wounds jagged and frosted from the icy magic of the blade, and Firestorm howled and clutched at the wound with a scaly paw on reflex. Rather than let her momentum carry her past the dragon, Typhoon quickly snapped open her wings, shedding whatever ice still clung to her feathers, and whirled around, driving straight at Firestorm’s opposite wing and cutting a large tear through the membrane as she passed. Even as she swung around to cross underneath the dragoness’ body for another attack, she spared a moment to let icicles build on her left wing and, flying upside down for a brief moment, launched them up at Firestorm’s underbelly. Two of the three projectiles shattered against the dragon’s scales, but one found a gap in the armor and struck deep, the protruding segment dripping red with crimson before melting away and falling free. Disoriented, in pain, and under assault from seemingly all sides at once by a lone pegasus, Firestorm could do little but flail and lash out at random. Her tail whipped through the air with deadly force, and she swung her claws in wild strikes while she twisted and turned to try and find the pegasus before she could land another sword strike. She bellowed and blasted fire all around her, trying to wreathe herself in flames and reduce the lone legionary to ash, but all she succeeded in doing was blinding herself with bright yellow and orange flames against the dull gray of the breaking storm. And she was losing altitude as well, as her random movements robbed her tattered wings of the efficiency they needed to fly, and the dropping feeling in her gut was growing stronger by the moment. But even on the backfoot (or back claw, as it were), Firestorm was still a dragon, and Typhoon was still a single pegasus trying to take down a creature a hundred times her weight. Typhoon could only win through death by a thousand cuts, while Firestorm only needed one lucky swing to end the fight. That lucky strike came as Typhoon swerved to swoop over the dragoness’ lashing tail, only to see a red claw directly before her. She fluttered and veered her wings to dodge the strike, but to no avail; the best they managed was to turn her body a bit to the side before scales met steel, and the old soldier cried out in pain as the blow rent steel apart and crunched something within her chest from the impact alone. Blond feathers flew free from her wings as Typhoon violently tumbled backwards through the air, her sword launched from her mouth and flipping end over end before it fell into the trees below her. Still, pain was something Typhoon was used to, and coupled with the adrenaline pumping through her veins, she was able to block most of it out. Even if her chest burned with every breath and the tendons holding her wings into their sockets ached from the whiplash, she managed to right her tumble before she hit the ground and limply flutter her way to the earth, coming down hard on one of the stony cliffs nearby. She wasted no time scrambling to her hooves, knowing that lingering even a second could spell death, though when she tried to force herself airborne again, a sharp jabbing pain in her chest and nauseating dizziness in her head quickly put a stop to those efforts before she could even get her hooves off the ground. Gritting her teeth and tasting blood in her mouth, Typhoon instead turned around and looked back the way she came, eyes narrowing on the crimson death already swooping down at her, smoke billowing from the dragon’s nostrils. Cursing at herself and her carelessness, Typhoon desperately turned to the one option still available to her: a cave in the rocks leading down into the darkness below. By some luck or misfortune, Typhoon realized she had landed next to Firestorm’s lair, the only shelter from the dragon’s wrath in sight. The last thing she wanted to do was flee into Firestorm’s home turf, but there wasn’t anything else she could do; she could barely fly, and staying out in the open was naught but certain death. Not that the lair was much better either, but it at least gave her a chance to get away from Firestorm’s dragonfire and cobble together some prayer of a plan. Hearing the dragon’s roar behind her, Typhoon flung herself into the cave opening, a blast of scalding air hinting at the broiling death that would have found her if she hadn’t moved. The entire mountain seemed to shake as Firestorm landed on the cliff moments later, and Typhoon stopped her retreat long enough to stomp her hooves on the ground and channel her ice magic into creating a translucent wall to block off the cave entrance. Firestorm immediately began to melt it away with her dragonfire, but it bought Typhoon several precious seconds to scamper deeper into the lair and find a place to hide. It was dark deep in the mountain, but Firestorm’s fiery breath provided enough illumination for Typhoon to make out her surroundings. The tunnel opened up into a large cavern that reeked of sulfur and charred flesh, and right in the center was a pile of thousands, if not tens of thousands of gold and silver bits, surrounded by gems, gilded trinkets, and other valuable pieces of jewelry. Further out by the cavern walls were piles of trade goods like fine silks and fancy rugs taken from the far-flung corners of civilization, all amassed within this cave as Firestorm’s personal hoard. It was impressive, and though Firestorm might not really be a pony marquise like the title she had adopted, she certainly controlled the wealth to support her claim. But gold and jewelry was not going to save Typhoon from the angry dragon that had her cornered, and she could see no other way out of the cave, nor a means to flee into a deeper cavern. The only thing she could do was try to hide and hope that she could ambush the dragon and score a lucky hit with an icicle. She wished she hadn’t lost her sword when Firestorm struck her; the magic blade was definitely sharp enough to cut through Firestorm’s belly scales, unlike the blades hanging off of her wings… Even then, Typhoon knew that an icicle would hardly cut it, unless she managed to strike something vital through the dragon's armor. But then she realized something else: a good chunk of Firestorm's hoard, maybe even half of it, was made out of flammable trade goods. She remembered from her prior experiences with fighting dragons that there was a reason dragons hoarded wealth. Wealth was power, both as a social symbol, but even more importantly as a tangible effect. Dragon greed compelled them to hoard wealth, and the more wealth they seized, the larger and stronger they grew. And with that important realization, a tiny glimmer of hope sparked to life in Typhoon's head. What was left of the ice in the tunnel shattered against Firestorm’s weight, and Typhoon threw herself under a wagon to the side of the hoard of treasures, hoping that the shadows would be enough to hide her until Firestorm drew closer. She had barely tucked herself under the laden wagon when the dragoness herself stomped into the cavern, smoke billowing from her nostrils, her scaled lips drew back in a sneer. “Come out, little legionary,” the dragoness taunted. “There’s nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide. Are you too hurt to fly? One bite and you won’t hurt anymore!” The dragon stopped before her pile of gold and drew in a long, deep breath. “I can smell you, pony,” she growled, and one of her crimson claws dug through the pile and scattered bits everywhere. “Your sweat, your blood… I was going hunting before you attacked me. It’s been too long since I’ve feasted on a pegasus. You were always gamier than your cousins, but there’s nothing tastier than charred pegasus wings. Maybe I should thank you for offering yourself up to your marquise!” She stomped over to the wagon, and Typhoon gritted her teeth and summoned icicles to her feathers. As soon as the dragoness lifted it up, she leaped out from under the wagon and flung them, six in all, directly at the dragon’s face. Startled, Firestorm flinched and drew her head back, and the icicles largely shattered harmlessly against her armor. But Typhoon, ignoring the pain in her chest, slid beneath the dragoness and pressed her wingtips to the ground. When she lifted them a second later, a large spike of ice rose from the stony earth and impaled its tip in Firestorm’s belly, soliciting a roar and a spray of fire that danced through the cave even as red blood began to drip down the ice. But it was all Typhoon could manage; exhausted, in pain from what was likely a broken rib or two in her chest, and her pegasus magic weakening from continual exertion, she was too slow to dive for cover before Firestorm could react. Great crimson claws seized her barrel and hefted her off the ground, and Typhoon cried out in wheezing pain as Firestorm squeezed her chest in her grip, aggravating her broken ribs. She could only wriggle helplessly as the dragoness brought her up to her face, pinning her with her slitted golden eyes. “Finally,” Firestorm growled, getting a good look at her opponent for the first time. “You’re a bit old to be a soldier, aren’t you?” she remarked, noting Typhoon’s graying mane and tail, and the wrinkles on her face beneath the sweat and soot. “You’re long past your time, pegasus. But you fight like no other pony I’ve ever fought. Before I execute you for your crimes against your liege lord, tell me your name so I know whom I kill.” Typhoon grunted and managed to get some air into her lungs. “Typhoon Stormblade,” she wheezed. “Daughter of Hurricane Stormblade. Last commander of the Equestrian Legion.” “Those names,” Firestorm hissed, and she scowled in deep hatred. “The daughter of the Black-Winged Terror and his Legions. Cirrans. The elders tell stories of how your kind smashed our eggs and drove us out of our nesting grounds decades ago. How you and the earth ponies and unicorns turned the lands south of Krennotets into a frozen wasteland. Killing you will be an honor no dragon could ever hope to match!” She drew in a breath, ready to turn Typhoon into ashes, and the old soldier stared her down, ready to meet her death with honor. But Firestorm trembled before she could billow fire, and her grip on Typhoon weakened. To Typhoon’s immense surprise, Firestorm’s claw began to shrink, and the dragoness let out her breath as a cough of smoke. “What is—NO!” the dragoness shrieked, and she dropped Typhoon altogether and turned her attention to her hoard—a substantial chunk which, being made out of silk, wood, and other fuel—was now burning into ash from the wild spray of fire Typhoon had managed to solicit out of her with her icicle. “My hoard!” Firestorm screeched, lunging at the flames and trying to smother them with her claws, all the while steadily shrinking in size. Typhoon looked on in relief as the diminishing hoard caused its owner to similarly diminish, her draconian muscles thinning away and her over armored bulk reducing in mass. More and more Firestorm shrank in size as her hoard burned away, until the screeching dragoness was left only a couple of ponies tall rather than a couple dozen. The fight had suddenly become a lot fairer. Forcing herself to her hooves, Typhoon summoned the last reserves of energy she had and let ice build on her wings once more. “Leave now, Firestorm, or I will be forced to kill you,” she said, her voice hoarse with pain and raw from the smoke. “Monster!” Firestorm roared at her. “What have you done?! Everything I’ve amassed, everything I’ve worked for, gone! I… I-I’ll kill you!” She lunged at Typhoon, but Typhoon let spikes of ice fly from her wings again, and two struck deep into Firestorm’s weakened armor, eliciting harsh screams from the dragoness. She fell to her belly with one spike jutting out of her shoulder and one buried deep in her flank, and tried to burn Typhoon with fire, but only managed to sputter out a guttering flame that was more smoke than flame. Typhoon extended her wings and rattled the sharp and jagged scales on them, holding them out at her sides like two terrible, crooked saws. “Your final chance,” Typhoon warned Firestorm, watching the dragon's suddenly frightened eyes, and she widened her stance as she anchored herself before delivering a decapitating strike. “Leave these lands far behind you, and never think to subjugate a pony ever again, or I will end your life.” Draconic pride wrestled with fear for a moment, but Firestorm’s fear won out in the end. “You insect! You... you worm!” she shouted at Typhoon as she scurried away and toward the cave entrance, the dragoness who once called herself Marquise reduced to petty insults. Only when she felt she was safely out of Typhoon’s range did the dragoness turn tail and flee, her claws scraping across the stone before she launched herself off the cliff and flew away on ragged wings as fast as she could. Typhoon waited for several minutes, just in case the dragoness was stupid enough to return, but the only sounds she heard were her own ragged breathing and the crackling of the fire in the back of the lair. Only once she was sure that Firestorm would not return did Typhoon let down her guard and fall to her haunches, struggling to breathe in the increasingly-smoky cave as the fires raged over what was left of Firestorm's hoard. Gritting her teeth, the old soldier tried to drag herself out of the cave, but with her adrenaline slipping away, the pain in her chest and the exhaustion of her fight conspired together to rob her limbs of strength and send her flopping helplessly onto the ground. As her eyes rolled back, Typhoon blacked out knowing she'd at least died an honorable death.