Her name rings out in the gloom of the rainy, disgusting day. Of course,. He would pick today, when the ground is slick and slippery and wont to send her feet stumbling. But his feet are as likely to slip out from beneath him, if not more so. She has the added benefit of wings. Even without wings though, she would be here, eager and ready and wet. It has been so long since she’s fought, and for once, someone was going to teach her. She faced the four horsemen of the apocalypse as a child, but she got by on sheer luck. She wanted more than luck on her side.

She faces him, far enough away that his form blurs in the rain. She saunters forward until her view of him begins to clear. He wears a smile so like her mother’s, so like her own. A smile her brother never would have worn. But otherwise, in the haze of the rain, he could be her brother but for the horn on his forehead. Honorable, dedicated, proud.

Do you fight with honor as well? she wants to ask, but doesn’t, wasting no breath. She gives him a pointed look instead. So many unspoken words between one conniving and one honest warrior. What words could convince him that she trusts him? She would not follow him if she didn’t; would not stand here today with her life in his hands (though she has lives to spare). She does not know how to say it because she did not grow up in a world where trust existed.

All she can do is try to prove it.

He is stronger, faster, and more agile than she. There’s little Weaver has at her disposal against him. Only stubborn determination, the ability to take a hit, the fearlessness her resurrection grants her.

Raven circles above, his eyes keener than hers. Though they cannot share words and images yet, he can still offer some aid from above.  Particularly since he finally decided to grow up and fly, since he didn’t want to be sitting in her horns as she got pummeled. But whatever, she doesn’t care why he's finally flying. Only that he is.

She takes only a moment to give him that pointed look, taking stock of the situation. The ground is slick and puddled, but not so muddy that her feet will stay stuck to the earth. Orsino sits by Erebos' hooves, and Raven keeps an eye on the other companion.

Like everything she does, she throws herself headlong into the battle. Excitement and blood pulse in her ears with the pattering of rain. It is only a spar, she knows, but she wants to prove her worth. And besides, she's been fighting all her life. It feels like home.

Her legs move into a canter, wings spread slightly to keep her feet steady on the wet ground. The drag from her wings slows her, but she hopes the ground will slow him in return. She aims head on, risking his horn, turning course to her right when she’s hopefully just out of his horn’s reach.

As she turns, she folds her wings back, digging her feet into the earth for balance. She angles her hind end toward where she thinks his left side to be. Then she digs her front feet into the ground and kicks. His entire left side is a big target. The goal is only to hit something. Ribs, shoulder, rump; she doesn’t care what. She just wants to give him a solid bruise before he retaliates, because she needs him to have taken some damage already. Needs him to be weaker. Needs to give herself some slight advantage. Likely, this is not a fight she can win, but she can damn well make it hard for him.

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Attack: 1/3 – Words: 639
Summary: Canters straight toward Erebos, turns her course to her right at the last minute to aim a kick with her hind legs toward his left side.

- weaver -