The perk of living far from home is that she doesn't worry about impressing her mother or father. Not that she has anything to live up to on the battlefield. Neither fought as she does, with hooves and teeth and instinct. They fought with magic, more powerful magic than Weaver will ever have. But both could die, unlike their daughter, and she is far more reckless and wild. Weaver earned her power through blood and pain. In the same way, she will earn her place in Helovia. Not as a warlord, not for violence alone, but her name will mean something.

The call that reaches her is unfamiliar, but it rings through the night like a beacon. Her blood sings with the sound of a battle call. Weaver should be more concerned as she answers, not knowing who issues the challenge. She is small and rather unimpressive compared to the others in the Basin’s army. Not that these facts stop her. These facts make her more willing, more eager to prove her worth on the battlefield.

She walks through the trees, following the call, until another mare comes into view. Barely a mare, but regardless, the girl is tall and thick and those three horns look nasty. Weaver’s not about to take age as a sign of weakness. Hell, she’s hardly older than the girl. They are somewhat matched for speed and agility at least, but the girl is without a doubt far stronger. Weaver’s got endurance on her side, but she’s almost always got that. The ability to take a punch and keep ticking. Fearlessness that even the worst punch won’t stop her (it won’t, after all).

“One should know their opponent's name,” she calls across the distance. The statement buys her time to close the gap, and a moment to confirm that the girl is looking for a fight. Though Weaver’s not actually waiting for an answer. She’s too awake now for sleep, her muscles longing to test themselves.

“Weaver,” she says, offering her own name. Her amber eyes scan the area. It’s clear enough, some snow and ah…of course…ice. That might be worse than the mud Erebos had decided to fight in. And the darkness isn’t helping much, though it’s a clear night, and there’s enough light to see by. Except that ice might go unseen. The eagle with the girl is older, stronger, and scarier than Raven, and Weaver's bonded knows it. He takes to the sky, finding a suitable place to watch without being part of the fight. He could serve as a warning bell for Weaver, his eyesight far better than hers, but nothing more.

She wonders if the girl’s youth has her as eager to prove herself as Weaver is. To make a name. To matter. Maybe they’d be fast friends one day, beating each other to a pulp on the battlefield to make one another better. Weaver could see that working.

As she walks, she attempts to angle herself perpendicular to Oizys’ right side. Without another word, she charges. Wings lift a few inches from her back for a little extra balance on the ice and snow. At the last minute, Weaver ducks her head, all seven horns aimed at the girl’s side. A nice slice on the ribs would give Weaver some advantage against the rather large, powerful girl. Though like always, she’d take any hit, any advantage.

It’s a friendly fight, she knows, but it’s still a fight. She has no plans to impale the girl if she somehow manages a direct hit. But the girl will likely move, so she doubts it's a real concern. No one stands there and take a blow, after all. Well, probably, anyway.


Attack: 1/3 – Words: 623
Summary:
- Weaver charges at Oizys’ right side with head lowered, attempting to hit Oizys’ ribs

- weaver -