Only, where Aithniel was all fire and light, Cirrus was wind and water. And yet they were so similar, despite all their differences. It was a curious notion for the little cloud to be viewed as a seasoned warrior, but when compared to the apprentice state Aithniel was in, Cirrus was just that. With her devilish grin curving her lips, she welcomed the Firebringer's emboldened attitude, rising to the challenge in the other girl's eyes and tones, loving the rush of blood and adrenalin through her veins and arteries.

The cloud-girl knew an attack was coming, but the creative edge that Aithniel utilised still took her by surprise. Cirrus naturally dipped her head low to her to left side, brushing her chin against the plump curve of her right shoulder - leaving the left one exposed to feel Aithniel's strike against her. It would seem that either the firechild's aim was not exact, or she did not really mean to harm Cirrus, for the cloudchild only felt the strike of a single hoof, which slid along its edge down the sharp contours of her scapula. In reaction to this Cirrus spun further to her right, so that when she did look up through her left eye and see all the hooves of Aithniel, she only felt a glancing blow along her withers.

The young warrioress shook herself, as if shaking off the remnants of sleep, she shed the hurts and insults such attacks made to her body, and trained her eyes on the firechild's retreating form. The strikes had indeed struck her, but whether they were intentionally light blows or simply the fault of an untrained hand, Cirrus found herself able to go on without much hindrance to her step and movement. Bruises, that would probably ache for the duration of their scuffle, would thereafter heal swiftly - the constant motion would, in the long run, aid circulation and healing though the cloudchild cared little for that right now.

Right now, she wanted nothing more than to enjoy this fight with the little firestarter, her unknown cousin. And so, with that wicked grin on her maw and a spark behind her electric blue gaze, she bounded after the cheeky young belle, wings snapping out from her sides and scooping the air generated by her motion. The Sun was high in the sky, her own pelt shone a brilliant blue, her teeth glinting white as they flashed out from behind charred lips to attempt to lay a biting kiss upon the firechild's plump rump. Cirrus was coming up on Aithniel's left side, so she struck out to the right with a sharp, lightning quick laugh and swing of her tail.

She did not linger, however, instead she continued forth, a speedy canter filling her wings with the lift they needed to take to the air. Imitating her cousin's previous strike (but adding her own twist), Cirrus tried to pass the firechild and kick out with her strong hind legs on her way into the skies, aiming for the girl's left wing, hoping to bruise it, make it hurt for the girl to fly so that she could continue to have the upper hand.

Cirrus was nothing if not a sore loser. She would be very put out indeed if the firechild had learned so much so fast that she was better than her in this arena. Still, until she was proven a loser or a winner, Cirrus would make this fun. Flapping heavily, she flicked a glance over her right shoulder to see whether her little firestarter would follow her into the skies, to take this battle to an aerial level.