Fennick felt a rush of adrenaline tear through him. It made him wild, and the wolf snarled as he leaped towards Straia. But, as wild as he was, as ruthless, Straia was faster. One moment he was speeding towards her barrel and the next he was facing her powerful haunches. Fennick swore in his head, but he had been keeping an eye on her back legs. This was what he had worried about, what he had prepared for. When Straia bucked to the right, the wolf dropped to his belly with predatory, fast reflexes. He wasn’t quite fast enough. Straia’s hoof flew over him, raking down his back. Fennick howled in pain, and he scrambled to get out the way of her hooves. Fennick dodged left, snapping wildly with his jaws. The metallic tang of blood met his tongue and he knew he made a hit, though certainly not the one he had been expecting.
It was a relief to shift out of his wolf form, to become the wind. He had been precariously close to straia’s hooves. In the air, he was free, out of harm’s way. But, though his safety remained, his triumph was brief. Where Straia had been a moment before there was now nothing?
Fennick found himself falling with not a horse beneath him but what appeared to be thin air. The wolf yelped, his paws pumping uselessly in the air. Where had she gone? Fennick saw a slight movement before the transparent raven became fire. The flame blazed in his face and the dog snarled. There was fire everywhere, the smoke clouding his vision and filling his nose. He felt it lick his muzzle and singe his fur. Though his senses were clouded the dog bit down anyways. It was useless, and he could hardly feel the feathers in his mouth, not when all he could think of was the fire.
Without thinking, with nothing but defense in mind, Fennick allowed the fire to consume him until he and it were one in the same. As he shifted into flame the scent of burning fur disappeared, and the sharp pain of sizzling skin faded. He could remember the feeling of pain, but without skin to feel it the memory was dulled, seemingly unimportant. As fire, Fennick saw his wolf form as nothing but a victim, a victim of the flame he had become.
As a blazing inferno, Fennick raced towards Straia, now momentarily a horse. As fire nothing mattered but his own hunger. The flames sped across the ground, spreading and consuming the barren landscape. Fennick felt the wide gaping hunger consume him, and he didn’t care what part of Straia she hit. All of her would burn. The flame spread out from its source, the spot where the wolf had been and circled their battlefield. The flames grew high, hissing and spitting as it reached for raven, horse or foliage, whatever it could reach.
When the fire could rage no higher, when Fennick thought the whole valley was likely to burn, he shifted his consciousness back to the ground. He felt its solidness, he felt the rock, old as the earth. With a sigh, Fennick became the rock. He felt confident and solid as stone, he felt his edges become jagged and rough. With a grinding rumbling groan, the rock exploded upwards, sending bits of dirt and debris scattering everywhere, acting as tiny bullets of stone. He had seen a few of the tricks Straia had up her sleeve. Surely she would take to the wing to escape the fire. Perhaps a bit of stone would clip her wing or pierce her feathered skin.
OOC: Very late! Sorry, I've had a lot going on and it left me with zero will to write.