Through the veil of rain a call thunders from the distance. It is then, now, that Ru’s heart pumps vigorously, flutters and transcends her fear, her anxiety, her ineptness in this dizzying world into one singular entity.

Victory.

There is only Victory that quivers along her lips. It isn’t a booming song that vibrates into the open, or a swelling of pride that spills out from her sides. She gives herself no other option, even if this Victory is not like the shouts and hurls of those who have conquered. Because it twists and aches in every layer that inhabits her guts, and cause every sound and touch of rain to radiate louder and harder than it should.

I am alive and I am burning with life. She cannot envision a more suitable cause, a more severe calling to endure the life she has chosen. There is purpose here in the Edge. And she must fill her cup with her devotion, or else the girl is damned to failure – again, and again, and again until the scars have struck her down into the mud.

Her eyes are wide, as her breath puffs out with heated clouds. She eyes her challenger, swathed in a flurry of snow, and brandished by scars untold. A series of mental notes are made: nearly equal in height, pegasus, companion – magic unknown. The mare appears matured, filled out; muscles that have seen battles are sure to pack their punch. It’s hard to truly discern what other characteristics lay dormant in the mare’s structure. Not without testing the mare’s movement.

Ru raises her head, and flares her wings to roll them forwards. The name Elsa means nothing to the girl – considering the lack of history shared between the warriors. There are no legends of Elsa’s prowess, her duty to her land – how she’s bled, and for what? To be ignored and dissolved away to time? Perhaps it is in the opponent’s benefit that her history remains hidden from the pupils who wish to provide their services, if not intentional, than foolishly negligent.

The dunskin offers the zephyr a quick glance, before an inevitable pause is afforded to Ru. But of course, she doesn’t take it – not anymore that is. Not in the throws of battle that boil into her blood, and glare after her opponent with what she hopes is a focused assessment of her build. And without adieu, the wild child, the vicious heroine seizes the wet earth with her nails. Propelling her after the mysterious white banshee, while her skin prickles underneath the palpable tension that lingers from one warrior to the other.

There is victory, after all.

And it comes with the presence of ice, and the sharp spike that slides across and beside her left fore. Just as Ru lands the offending leg, it cuts shallowly along the inside of her limb, severing skin like tissue paper, breaking with the crack of a contemptuous squeal. A sound that is fresh in its delivery, despite how broken and jarred it becomes in the air. It burns as she picks up her other limbs, avoiding the snares that leave their frosted bite against her heels. With each forced and even breath she is determined to gain speed and meet the seasoned canvass of her foe.

And just as the feeling of prickling, wicked ice-heat burns alongside her neck mysteriously, she manages to keep her voice from lurching beyond clenched jaws. The pain, despite its shallow presence along the right side of her neck, or the electrifying pull of damaged hide, fuels the huntress as she keeps her eyes ahead of her.

Ignoring the craw of the companion – wherever it resides – to move faster, move quicker between their distances. As obvious as her tactic appears, her wings are beating soundless beside her in the rain's heavy drum.

Ru jumps, lunging several strides before Elsa, tucking forelimbs and bunching her haunches close. Quickly now, the girl – having coiled her hindlegs allows them to spring back in an attempt to land a blow to her opponent’s withers, while in the air. The place where wing attaches to body, in an attempt to impair the Icebound’s ability to chase after her; though more as a tease to hopefully infuriate her elder. The wild child snaps her feathered tail down in abandon, whipping towards the frosted face below – as she plunged further into the sky to elevate her position.

A jeering whicker escaped her clenched jaw. Throwing her gaze back in hopes of spotting the white banshee's disapproval.

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