Khait readies her lance for a charge.  "Fuck it... " she leans down, urging the massive beast she's riding to take a low stance, offering it hissing encouragements, promising it blood, in the vile abyssal tongue.  The howler creeps, taking a swerving path through the rock outcroppings, then, when the field opens, begins to gather speed, more, until they are scrambling at full tilt down the hillside.  She grips the reins tightly with her shield hand, and under the golden ram's-face mask, she smiles as she hurls headlong toward death.