She had fled. Into the stalks of bamboo and away from the young unicorn and his kitsune, away from all other thoughts of sparring and fighting. Each stride caused the wound on her thigh to stretch and bleed more, staining her feathers as her wing brushed against it as well as the dark patch of her coat. Hemlock flew above her, remaining close - his worry for her mingling with his own feelings of guilt. That had been the first time he had actually attacked someone and although it was done in defense of Alysanne (and although he would do it a thousand times again for her) it bothered him.

She ran and it wasn’t until she shuddered to a stop, because she didn’t want to make the wound on her leg any worse, that she realized she should have at least healed him before leaving.

Her breaths ragged and heaving, Alysanne looked around but this labyrinth of green stalks looked the same on all sides - she didn’t remember which way she had come from or how far she had gone. The small owl, coming to perch on her withers, knew better than to point out ‘who cares’ though that summed up his sentiments on the matter - he preferred for Alysanne to not go back and find the blue boy.

She had lost sight of him, and she shied away from wandering aimlessly around this strange forest, so she stayed where she was and berated herself instead. It was stupid to get involved in another spar when she knew what would happen. There had been that hope that fighting a stranger would’ve made it easier but of course it didn’t - Alysanne cared for strangers almost as strongly as she did those she knew. And she had not been able to shake the visions of Artorius, her son, that plagued her in the presence of that young stallion. It was doomed, doomed from the start, and the weight of her stupidity settled heavily on her shoulders as she continued to stand there - her left wing held gingerly away from the bleeding wound and her head held low.

She should wash the gash on her thigh, even if she wasn’t going to heal it. Wash the stain of red out of her soft white feathers.

But she couldn’t move just yet, her legs trembling and her mind wild with distress. It was just a spar but it didn’t feel that way to her, she had drawn blood - she had hurt someone else - all for the sake of “experience”.

Not for the first time, Aly worried she didn’t have what it took to finish her quest with the Moon Goddess. But at least if she didn’t heal her own wound, and avoided the Edge for a while so they wouldn’t make her, she was one step closer. For the time anyway, the deep pain of the gash suited her mood. And she closed her eyes - letting her weakness wash over her for just a moment longer.