A fine arsenal you have there, he says in that deep, booming voice. She laughs, despite the pain in her shoulder and her knee, because there are far worse pains. Even if this were a far worse pain, she would still laugh because she would not let him win so easily. She would not stay on her knees before him. Not now in this battle, and not in any to come. Though their banter entertains her, she doesn’t let it distract from the attack, from her goal of skewering him with her arsenal of horns.

She's rewarded, all seven horns slipping deep into his left side. She’s cut many horses with her horns, but she has never impaled anyone. It's thrilling in a way she cannot describe, a feeling of power she rarely finds. She is tiny compared to the Throat's Sultan. She is weak and insignificant. But despite these facts, there are seven holes in his side.

The successful attack gives her no illusions of winning. But she is pleased anyway, ecstatic. She does not need to win, not so early in her career. She only needs to be memorable. That would be enough for now. One day, she will need to win. One day, she will need to be everything she is not yet. But for now, to be a worthy opponent on the battlefield is a damn good start. She’s willing to bet that he won’t forget the girl who was inside him. It usually works the other way, after all.

There are quips on her tongue, but he’s already peeling himself off her horns and the words die on her tongue. There are more important things to do now, like not getting trampled to death. His head swings toward the left side of her neck, and she shifts, trying to move to her right. She’s already tired from the heat, sore from his first attack, and the combination slows her down. She is not fast enough.

Her right leg wrenches as the earth comes rushing up, the muscle in her shoulder pulled by the sudden movement. Her balance shifts back to the left, throwing her into his attack. Volterra’s bite lands in the middle of her neck and she finally screams, a combination of pain and frustration. The bruise is enough to hinder movement in her neck, and her front legs are nearly out of commission.

Part of her loves this though. There’s something primal to the scream. Her other battles ended with her getting scratched and little more. They were such friendly spars they hardly counted at all. This is how real fights go. This is how she’d grown up, scraping herself off the ground to prove that she wouldn’t quit. To prove she is worth more than they think. That is what she wants to prove now. She will keep fighting longer than any of her opponents. She will fight till she bleeds out on the earth below her hooves. At least, for the moment, he’s the one bleeding out.

She rocks back to her uninjured hind end, unfurls her wings, and takes off. If she’s lucky, she’ll smash her wings into his face as she beats them in large, powerful strokes to get off the ground. He has magic and she has wings, and she’s not about to let this one advantage go unused. With her front legs and neck bruised, she is glad to get into the air, moving up and away from him so she can pick up some speed.

She circles around, trying to get into position as best she can. When she thinks she'd lined up, she tucks her wings and dives, aiming toward his left side. She spreads her wings at the last minute, trying to avoid a straight crash. Her front legs kick toward his withers, trying to do more damage to the area she’s already stabbed. Even if she doesn’t get his withers, with any luck, she’ll manage to kick his left shoulder, back, or neck. Her attack won’t be as powerful as she’d like, her front legs far weaker than normal. Despite this, she's hoping the momentum of the dive will make up for her injuries. “Then I assume you don’t like to be beneath a woman, either,” she says, hiding the pain and fatigue beneath a mask of vicious flirting.

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Attack 2/3 – Words 728
Summary:
- Volterra bites the middle of her neck, and she pulls her right shoulder from his earth magic
- Weaver flies and tries to kick his withers on his left side