It was a beautiful night for a big, fuck-off bonfire.

As the lights in Pegasus dimmed for the evening, Tsvetok slunk out of the alcove it had been napping in. Earlier, it'd managed to take down one of the deer here; the large, burly ones-- (well, it'd found an injured one, but it still counted in their opinion) --and dragged it back to crunch into it. Little remained of the affair, except for the remaining feeling of fullness in the Valkhound's belly.

But it was.... bored.

Someone had the bright idea to instill an urge to destroy within Tsvetok. Great for your vast army of slavering, chaotic freaks who run out and kill and eat whatever they can. Less great for the local wildlife in the nest you grew it in. A hill up in the meadows immediately caught its eye, and it ran quickly up.

There would be some who would take in the sights; the flowers rustling in a faint wind, the glowing orbs on the walls and ceiling dimming and un-dimming lazily as it prepared for a pseudo-twilight. There were also some, like Tsvetok, who wanted it all dead and gone and buried.

What a great place for a fire.

Glowing bile rose in its throat, decorating the dark feathers with deep, internal light. It reared its head back, choking and then regurgitating white-hot bile onto the ground in front of it. The grass was a little dry, but sparse. Though it quickly took root and began flaming up into the ceiling, it was quickly cornered and left to burn atop the little hill.

Perfect, it though (or at least, it would have if it had any internal monologue). And then Tsvetok started thumping down the hill again to watch its work from afar.

In theory, Tsvetok had never been happier.

Full belly. Horrible fire burning in the distance. It might have wished for Timir there, to enjoy its good mood with its friend, but Tsvetok wasn't exactly good at the whole cognizant thought thing. Or the friend thing, for that matter.

But then, the fire was suffocating. It was furious.

It scrambled to its feet at once, loping unevenly up the hill. It saw, dimly, a creature hunched over, puking on its beautiful bonfire. "HEY!!!" Tsvetok bellowed-- because it had to be louder than everything else to assert dominance, of course. "THAT'S MINE!!!"

It reared its head back and spat another globule of hot bile over the patch of soggy grass. The fluid hissed angrily as it made contact with Worm's water, hissing away. It was dry and lightly on fire, now, the little remnants that Worm didn't catch still smoldering.

Tsvetok's red-hot face swung back to Worm. "THAT WAS MINE!!!" It repeated into his face, screaming. "YOU RUINED IT!!"

Tsvetok hadn't been screamed back at before-- at least, not like this. Timir yelled back because it was the right and normal thing to do, but this screaming seemed very aggressive. Not that the Valkhound wasn't also being aggressive-- long had its crest feathers fallen over its face in a ridiculous display of 'dominance.'

"YOU'RE NASTY!!" It screamed back without missing a beat. It stomped a hind leg into the ground just to prove its point with even more noise. "YOU SMELL BAD! YOU'RE RUINING IT!"

Incidentally, Tsvetok stank. It hadn't bathed since... well, it hadn't even gotten wet since it'd been born. A few weeks of grime and guts-smell and Fates-knew-what-else had piled up. But it liked the stink. It stank like itself. Having a little piddle over its chicken legs, erasing the smell even a little bit, was a declaration of outright war.

It tapped into that little spot of chaos in its belly and pulled magic from it. Then, a half-dozen Tsvetoks appeared around Worm. It'd intended something violent, like fire or lightning or whatever, but it supposed (as much as a thing that doesn't think can) that this would do for the sake of intimidation.

The seven Tsvetoks bent their heads and roared at Worm, though its stinking breath was only scented in one direction.