The crux of being a soldier is that sometimes one must take a beating for the sake of education. Their learning curves are full of bruises and broken egos, blood, sweat, and the sound of flesh thudding against flesh. Wessex had been mentally preparing herself to take a decent ass-kicking this time around: her opponent’s habits were unknown, there’s fucking sand everywhere, and she is still unsure of her place with Erebos (which is all in her silly head, not his actions). But as the younger soldier stood on the shore and made a personal resolution to prove she’s a damn good investment and not only that, more skilled than one her age usually was, she never thought luck would favor her this early.

Fast forward.

She could not let an opportunity like this pass! Erebos stumbles in the very sand he’d been so keen to play upon, and if Wessex weren’t fully focused, she would probably laugh. Loudly. In his face. Not out of malice, mind, but because he falls prey to his own trickery. There is something to be said for the cunning warrior, the one who can make split-second decisions and incorporate the environment to the best of their ability. Instead of laughing, the horned warrior surges forward, closing the distance as he encounters delays. The end result is her hooves slamming into his shoulder, the full weight of her modified, half-draft body thrown into him. Wessex may be large, but she ain’t stupid.

That blow would hurt. And hopefully hinder further movements. It might last a couple of days, but the body is remarkable in its capacity to heal itself.

Wessex lands and though she may or may not (oh, she does) have a smug expression on her face - it is part of her fatal flaw. She gloats before the battle has hardly begun, she taken a glance from Lady Luck as a sign of her persistent favor, when truly, the beauty is simply letting her gaze slowly travel around the room. When all four hooves are on the ground, she turns slightly and continues past his hindquarters - he seems occupied by pain, and she wants to avoid the punishing force of his hind hooves, which could probably deliver a bruise as exquisite as the one she’s just gifted him. Wessex urges her legs into a trot, wheeling around to her right and waltzes directly into their trap.

Forgetting that her General and his companion are a team, Wessex keeps her lizard eyes on the stallion trying to bite her, allowing the small, sneaky kitsune to sneak around to her left side and deal a more vicious attack. Sharp pain surprises her, causing Wessex to squeal unexpectedly. It is the most girly thing she’s done thus far. Her immediate response is to forget about the pair of teeth and horn coming her way, and buck, trying to dislodge the pesky Orsino, though he’s already scratched and clawed deep enough to draw blood and leave her with a smarting wound.

As her head comes back up from its lowered position in her buck, she is confronted by a blue-black body. With her attention elsewhere, Erebos took an opportunity to attack and it lands, bringing her focus back to the unicorn in front of her. She is lucky Erebos’s horn misses her, as his teeth pinch tightly against her right shoulder. It hurts as much as the last injury, but more dull. Goddamn it! Her attention is all over the place, and she’s losing control, she thinks, trying to force herself to prioritize the larger, more imminent threat: the horse. Breath hissing out from between bared teeth, her own chompers snake out in retaliation, aiming for the top of his neck, where she could grab hold of both skin and mane.  Coming from the side, she hopes to avoid his horn altogether, and use her weight to her advantage again.

Really, the two-timing tactic wasn’t fair (War isn’t fair, battles aren’t won by taking turns and ignoring your weaknesses, darling, her mother’s voice echoes), but Wessex isn’t sure how to defend against it.