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Finally, the last of Shakra's rings whirls past Hornet's head. It frisbees between her two pointed horns—the wind bends to its immense speed in a high whistle—before disappearing somewhere behind her. Her instincts scream at her to turn, to pinpoint where it's gone before it bounces back. But another voice in the back of her head tosses the word infinity around like a bag of beads. Is there ever a "last"?
"The well runs dry," Hornet warns Shakra with an edge to her tone, sharp as a spike. Where it comes from, she doesn't know.
That's a lie. With enough might to force her canine of a head off-balance, she strikes the air with her needle, then sweeps it through several pebbles in a menacing taunt.
Shakra's beaded eyes squint through the sun-filled onslaught of midday. The tough exoskeleton wrapping around her torso catches on the light in an unusual way. The consequence of exertion: dirt-covered sweat.
And ground teeth, judging by Shakra's gritted words.
"Hornet Wielding Needle."
Hornet's chin tilts up, and then to the side. Is Shakra hurt? Her ego isn't the kind to so readily bruise…
"You have bested me."
All at once, the tension that has made a home in Hornet's shoulders rolls itself out and, just as all the rings, falls to the floor.
"Temporarily."
Body still posed for victory, for floating, Hornet can barely manage a most sing-song-y "Mm?" before hot metal scorches the skin of her wrists.
A ring wrenches her arms together and rips her backward.
She topples over. Sensory hairs spike in every feeble direction, much like the grass she rustles through. An artificial clang! clears the air as her sharp talons scratch down her assailant's weapon.
Dirt and rock crunch under heavy feet. Hornet blinks, and Shakra is looming overhead. Her tall shadow is a fool's relief from the blinding rays. When she crouches—one hand planted beside Hornet's head, the other reaching for a stray fleck of grime on Hornet's maw—the air reeks of fluid exhaustion.
"There is always a drop at the bottom."
Slender fingers slide to Hornet's chin. Then, down Hornet's throat.
Though the suggestion of danger is so fleeting, Hornet is still shuddering when she sits upright. Her own hands tremble as she retrieves her weapon, and her throat aches with a phantom touch.