She doesn’t have to wait long for a returning call. A heavy, rattling response escapes beyond the shadows disfiguring the stranger. Ru can make out the years that have formed those swallow cheeks, by the amount of golden sun that highlights their rigid edge. The brief, hesitant glance that swallows his gaze, is not one she recognizes.

A crown twists behind the aged man. Her eyes trail from his cheeks to those horns, squinting to take in what other abnormalities that might inhabit the specter. With a long inhale that takes with it, the crisp mountain air – she billows out the heat from her lungs and advances on the stranger.

The pegasus woman keeps her air-born limbs outstretched, as her feathered head flares. She is nearly transported into an ether world between the twilight. No longer bound by the pleasantries of a mortal life. These things and thoughts are merely fairytales, but perhaps it will make the pain less aggravating. Perhaps they would paint their colliding bodies with fanciful imaginings, rather than the dull thud and spat of a spar.

- Not that that had been boring.

There’s just something ethereal fighting in this dim light. Where the stones cast long shadows, and the sun etches out the stranger in fine, slim lines.

Does he recognize the intent in her strides? Picking up at a trot, the female canters half way through the distance between them. Does he search for something else, rather than the primeval beating of their limbs? She assumes he does not, at least – she will know soon enough.

There is no easy way to come in hot, to be unpredictable, and catch her opponents off guard. She is still a child in her craft, learning what makes for foul and nasty wounds – where to cut. She enjoys it without realizing it, even if the pain follows her through. To have to gamble and shave off potential years from her purchase off the earth enthralls enough. There is no life worth cowering in the shadows, nor fear or dread to swell in every crack of her soul.

With the goading heat of the sun against her back, she charges into the stallion’s right shoulder. Lunging with her fore limbs curled as battering rams, for his slight and bony figure. Her lips curl back, in an attempt to sink her teeth into his neck. She can only hope that her charge gives her enough momentum to startle her opponent. Allow her body to shove forwards, and overpower his height for the briefest of moments.

IF, he submits and doesn’t fight back… The mare will have to come to terms to her poor assumption. That he wishes not to fight, that he had heard the battle cry wrong. It is out of her hands, for now, whether or not he suffers some great injury.

But before she can even consider the possibility, her body is steaming with the twist and pull of battle. Too consumed in the limelight that begins to dim, and thrust their bodies – so dissimilar and opposite of one another that they would make for an amusing display of wills and might. She is calculating whether or not he will go for her measures, or stand clear of her attack. If he will attempt to curl away from her with his hind legs, or lift his fores to meet her momentum.

The thrill is intoxicating, as she holds her breath in that very moment.

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Attack: [1/3]
Closing Defense [0/1]
Words: 578