"I can still fight, you know! You don't believe me?"

Her eyes flashed dangerously as Erthë glared up at the big stallion. The pale autumn light that sifted down through drifting clouds drained the young mare of color almost entirely, and as her temper flared up the wind that ruffled through messy curls turned decidedly icy. The conversation had been fairly pleasant up to this point - as much as it ever was when the company consisted of jiggly-assed mountains with mud for brains, at any rate - but with the way her voice rose, it was becoming increasingly clear that the peaceful mood wasn't going to last.

"Try me, why don't you!"

Already forgetting whatever it was they had been talking about that brought on the outburst, the horned hybrid hobbled backwards over the dry meadow and opened up the space between herself and the equine. As she stepped out of Volterra's shadow the fresh breeze caught her full in the face, so strong that it made her eyes water for a moment before she got used to squinting again. It was windy today for sure; on the coast it would mean rough waves and drifting sand, a sound like thunder or roaring lions as the canopy of the Edge's forest bent and swayed to and fro. But this far inland it was more refreshing than daunting, and it was very tempting to try and stretch out her wings. Like this she might be able to take to the air without a run-up, though actually flying anywhere would be a chore. Overhead the clouds were flying like tattered rags, crowding out the blue of the sky so that the midday light appeared to switch on and off and turned the surrounding landscape from dull, unsaturated hues of brown and gray to brilliantly vivid explosions of color.

It was breathtakingly beautiful, a grand setting that seemed to demand equally grand actions. Erthë was surprised to find herself grinning towards Volterra rather than frowning as she came to a halt, the anger merely providing fuel for a growing sense of excitement that welled up from within as she studied him. Against the burning colors of the oak trees and the sweet lavender of thistle and heather he seemed even bigger and blacker than usual, unfairly well muscled and disgustingly fit. In terms of physique they were nearly completely opposites; big versus small, thick versus thin, bulky against lean - but whereas the red-eyed man was probably nearly as strong as he looked Erthë thought she might be somewhat sturdier than she appeared. Her mother had been a hardy mare and something of her toughness had been passed down to herself, or so she hoped, so while she was at a serious disadvantage it might not be entirely hopeless to get in a hit or two.

And... she did have a slight edge. Reaching in under a wing the young mare retrieved the ivory bow, god-gifted and blessed with more strength than she had ever actually needed to use. With well practiced ease she positioned the bow and pulled the string taught, aiming down the sight until the bright, cold light of magic was trained dead on her friend. Adjusting the angle so that she wouldn't risk hitting any vital parts Erthë let fly the arrow towards that big, broad butt that always annoyed her so, utterly intent on forcing the dragon-bonded to engage her.

I won't let you underestimate me. Not you, who are supposed to be my friend!

_____________________________________________________

PC: 1/3 + def
WC: 588 words.

Setting:
Thistle Meadow, midday. It's chilly with strong winds, drifting clouds and moderate sunlight.

Summary:

Erthë backs away from Volterra and picks out her bow, aims at his left flank and fires. She hopes to force him to engage her, assuming that he won't do so willingly because of her disability. :D

Erthë

the      night      is      calling      my      name