There is nothing beautiful about battle. She’s known that since she was a child, since she struggled to survive the literal apocalypse. Now is not the time to think of those four horses, but the memory comes to her anyway, as it often does when she fights. Weaver cannot help but remember Famine's paralyzing hunger, Conquest's crippling disease, or War’s hooves snapping her ribs. In the end, what she remembers is how helpless those four horses made her feel. The only thing she could do when Death came was to let him take her. She gave herself to him, hoping her death would be enough to stop him.

Battle is not beautiful, but what it creates is stunning.

Death is a beautiful thing, even if it the living don’t know it. Those Death leaves behind are beautiful too, crafted with strength and confidence. Spars are a means to an end. They are a means to power, to confidence, to a beauty unimaginable when your skin screams in agony, when shit-brown blood stains your coat. It’s a fact she knows well, and it’s the end result that keeps her going. That makes the fight and the pain and exhaustion worth it.

She is not enough, but she will be. She will spar till red forever stains her white patches, till she’s lost count of the broken bones. She will loose again and again and again until one day, she might actually win. Until she is enough.

Her hooves smack into Oizys’ ass, and the resulting roar is hilarious. Even if the blow isn’t overly painful to the gargoyle, Weaver delights in it. “My ass”  rings through the air around her. “But it’s a beautiful ass,” she yells, turning her amber eyes toward the mare as she flies over, her second kick missing. This is what happens when you get distracted, but she almost doesn’t care, mind reveling in this moment. “I couldn’t resist!”

Thank the Gods she’s looking. Thank the freaking Gods she’d turned to cast a winning, flirty smile at Oizys. Weaver is watching as the girl tries to coil her hind end beneath her, giving Weaver enough time to react and not lose a leg. Shit. She should have flown away when she had the chance, rather than teasing. Too late for that. Weaver tips to her left, sweeping her wings in a powerful flap, trying to move up and to the left. Away from those organ skewers on the girl’s head.

But she’s too close to Oizys (who’s got plenty of height to help her here) and too slow to get away completely. Weaver manages to get her leg out of the way, but the horns rip through the skin along her right butt cheek. She can feel the skin part, blood oozing from the wounds and she hisses through clenched teeth. Raven has sparked another warning in their bond, and she's tempted to kick at that fucking eagle. But that would be stupid, because if anyone hurt Raven, Weaver would turn into a momma bear. And what she didn’t want was Oizys to turn into a momma bear. Also, Weaver isn’t that cruel.

Instead she concentrates on flying, moving forward to avoid Ker's talons. The lacerations in her ass are more than enough, and she doesn’t need deeper ones. Ker’s attack misses, the wind of his momentum her only sign the raptor was there. After she’s a reasonable distance from her opponent, Weaver lands. She lands with most of her weight on her front, testing her back right leg with light pressure. Useable, but damn does it hurt.   “You did a hell of a number on my ass as well. So we’ve even,” she says with a smirk and, somewhere in those words, respect. The girl would be a formidable one of the battlefield, and Weaver is glad that in a real fight they are on the same side.


Words: 658
Summary:
- Weaver gets three nice slices on her right butt cheek and is generally sassy about asses

- weaver -