He caved in, and this victory - though small, barely worth notice on the grand scale of things - brought a wide grin to her lips that erased the lingering traces of anger inside. Never mind his doubts now, who even cared about her hurt pride and chipped confidence when the behemoth of a stallion had agreed to face her, teach her even! Another would perhaps be further insulted by the suggestion that she was not competent enough already, but no such thoughts even crossed her mind. As always the prospect of gathering information flipped a switch in her mind that left room for little else; this was serious business now, and she would treat this bout with the same focus and attentiveness as any lesson taught by Alune.

She couldn't help it though. Excitement was throbbing within her as the magic arrow flew through the air, and though she winced a little upon seeing the projectile make its mark - not a clean hit, barely a scratch, but a hit none the less! - there was no time to apologize or dwell on the guilt that burned at the back of her throat. Volterra was speaking again, commending her even as he started towards her. The biting cold of the magic arrow was shrugged off as though it was nothing, pain brushed aside as one might the bite of a mosquito. Was he made of steel, this man? Was it a facade, a mask to make her think it didn't bother him at all when in fact the nick was actually really painful?

Erthë nodded in acceptance of Volterra's offer to teach and followed his instructions, focus keeping her questions at bay. Squinting slightly through the strong wind she watched his movements closely, pale eyes attempting to understand what the complex machinery of the body before her was revealing. He sped up; she leaned back and partly unfurled the wings, distributing weight away from the weak front legs while the feathered appendages helped her keep balance. Sweeping the tail back with a flick she brought the long tassel out of the way of trampling feet, and as she noticed that Volterra didn't seem to turn left or right, Erthë realized she would have to move.

Angling the left wing so that it caught the wind she turned in the same direction, forelegs barely touching the ground as she stepped round, around, and then backwards. The skin on her chest tingled in anticipation, prepared to feel the blistering heat of the stallion brush past, all while the right shoulder braced for impact should her gauge on the distance be off. When she thought he was close enough Erthë brought her head down, teeth bared in search for Volterra's right elbow, hurrying to catch hold of skin before he would be past her - if he would indeed pass at all.

The world was a whirlwind of color around her, painfully vivid and overly bright. All the detail of the landscape and the dragon-lord before her seemed to jump out for her eyes to see, but this only made it feel as though she was missing a hundred obvious things, forced to overlook another thousand details that were more important. Was fighting always like this? Would it change once she got used to the sound of charging hooves, the sun in her eyes, the reek of warm skin and the drumming of her own heart as tall grass tickled her belly? She couldn't recall the great battles of the Rift war anymore, had no idea whether she was acting appropriately or if her decisions would result in snapped wings, jolting impact, a bow snapped in two at her feet while a black behemoth reared up to hammer down her appropriate place in the world once and for all.  

Maybe it was a good thing she hadn't landed a better hit with that first arrow. At least Volterra seemed to be in a good mood... maybe she wouldn't die even if she did screw up.

---

PC: 2/3
WC: 673

Summary: She watches him closely, judging he won't turn to either side. Erthë turns 90 degrees to the left and backs away, facing Volterra's right side. Hoping he will blast by in front of her, she tries to bite his right elbow.

Erthë

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