The feathers, the color of a cloudy day, blended in with the mountainous surroundings, torn like gray leaves, slashed by claws. Her breath crawled out of her thin-lipped mouth, curling around her pale cheeks and appearing to brush her dull skin, which was speckled with tiny white things, scruffy adolescent down in the peak of change. The part of her body that she could still feel was throbbing, pain flashing like a bright red siren. Her bony back shifted painfully, and drops of clear liquid hissed and bubbled as they hit the snow. A crooked sound pulled itself from between her lips, the noise of a desperate animal - full of loathing. Her plumage rose and fell in time with her slow breath, crackling, hollow stalks creaking. The world was falling asleep before her, turning black like Death’s silk gown.

Before she could slip in unconsciousness, a sharp kick connected with the side of her skull. Lights appeared in front of her shadowed eyelids, and she reached up to rub them, but a crushing swing to the ribs caused her to double up in agony. A cruel voice slid through the air, snakelike, baring its fangs as it pierced her ears.

“Well, now, Frowlie...”

The gleeful smirk was visible behind his dark words, even if her eyes were closed for the pain. Jayte leaned down to the heaving mass of feathers, his long sharp fingers dragging delicately across her speckled cheek. “I figured you’d be fun to play with, but I never knew this frigid little owlet had such boiling blood.” He indicated lazily the sizzling snow which was melting beneath the clear liquid, dripping profusely from her wings. A strained growl forced itself from within her throat, snapping it’s curved beak at the speaker. “Do not call me...that...you have no such right -” she was silenced by a slash directly to the face, a cry breaking the frozen air as she writhed.

“Do not say my name in your foul tongue,” she breathed, growling. “You twist my words in your black throat and spit them out as if they are nothing.” Jayte laughed, a harsh cruel laugh that seemed colder even than the wind now blowing furiously around them. “And I suppose you are the angel, pure and beautiful. You think you can snuff out the darkness? Think again my dear. I will destroy you, sweet angel.” The girl snarled savagely, blood seeping from her lips. “I am not an angel, you jerk. I hate them, they disgust me. To dare suggest that one such as I, a full-bred Noat, would be an accursed Kahika of the Sky.” she finished by spitting harshly at his feet. “Pahaat Piíta,” she muttered, grinding her teeth. “My darling,” purred Jayte, touching her cheek gently. “Do not curse me. I know you pride yourself in this, but I must warn you...I am a curse myself.”