She places a lot of stock in her own abilities, but only as they relate to herself. It benefits her to serve the Basin. Deep down she's even starting to like the place, but she wouldn’t stay without a reason behind the staying.  Her mother had served the Chamber out of sheer love for the land, had craved power for her kingdom. Weaver craves power for herself; power in her own body, her own magic, and her own life.

The Basin is a vehicle. One she wants to help. It does not benefit her for the Basin to be weak, for the residents to fight amongst one another. She doesn’t care if it becomes powerful under the rule of another, so long as it becomes powerful. She wants to wield the name of the Basin as a weapon. Wants the name to make others weak in the knees.

If only her and Erebos knew that they fight today, in the muck and mire, for the same end. Would it matter then that their reasons and methods differed? Or could they use those differences to help one another? He could soften her, and she could harden him.

Her feet hit flesh, and she can’t help the Cheshire grin, pleased to have hit him and hoping it hurt. Not too much, it is a spar after all. But enough pain to make a difference. She needs whatever advantage she can get. And if she’s being honest, there’s something wonderful and thrilling about the fight. About the bruises and the pain and the adrenaline that courses through her veins.

She wants to turn and look, wants to see where he is. That’s the problem with the position she’s picked. She has some sense of him, but not enough. All she can do in this stupid mud is try to get herself out of his range without sending herself sprawling. But she’s not fast enough, which doesn’t surprise her, because he’s faster than she. His teeth come down on her croup, scraping skin, though the damage feels minimal. A small bruise, at worst. It doesn’t hurt as she keeps running.

Her feet begin to slip as she tries to look back at Erebos, to gauge his position. It's a damn shame Raven can’t talk yet, can’t be a full set of eyes. But he doesn’t scream a warning at her either as she unfurls her wings. Screw this ground and the Basin’s old prejudice. Oh, if only she knew Erebos’ thoughts on her wings. That he would ask what flying felt like, would admire her wings instead of loathe them. It might, almost, break her heart. Whatever heart she has, anyway.

Someday, they should talk. If only words were as easy as the fight.

She flaps her wings, the rain not heavy enough to deter her from flying. When her feet leave the mud, she turns to look for him. “Don’t take it easy on me cause I’m a girl, General.” She grins, her amber eyes wild and alive and mischievous. She hopes that he knows she’s teasing. Goading. Playing. That it’s nothing more than friendly banter. That she got damn lucky his attack didn’t hurt more. That she got damn lucky her attack did.

It's a little strange to care what someone thinks. But she does.

She doesn’t climb high into the air, because what good does that do her? He could see her coming, and it’s not like he could follow, so she has no element of surprise. No, she just hopes that she can fly in the rain faster than he can run in the mud. When she thinks she’s positioned behind and above him, facing his rump, she folds her wings and dives.

Using the momentum of her dive for extra power, she kicks her front legs, aiming for his back, though any hit would do. She's not that picky. She spreads her wings at the last minute, trying to avoid a complete crash.

When all is said and done, she lands somewhere in front of him (she thinks, but he could have moved or attacked), because it’s really not a fun fight if he can’t reach her. It’s also unfair, but when does she care about fair? It’s only the fun that matters.

Attack: 2/3 – Words: 716
Summary:
- Erebos' bite leaves a small bruise on her croup
- Weaver flies away, turning in air to try and face his rear. She dives toward him, kicking with her front hooves and aiming for his back

- weaver -