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The tired sun was falling in the west, giving last of its touch to eastern lands, and a faint glow to those that hung closer to its descent. Night came quicker to the Basin, but this overcast there was only dim shadows, and no annoyance of direct light. Twilight, the red maned's favorite time. When the sun and night touched, saying hello and goodbye. A time when the Thief would usually be on the prowl, but instead she had a request of the Basin's General. An intriguing test, one that might be daring death. The risk only made it more interesting, and what better way to see her newly gifted power. A spar with the leader of their soldiers. The clashing emotions of fright, and anticipation lined in her gut. How they often went hand in hand. Unlike the time with Cinneviam, Faelene was more intimidated. It wasn't necessarily by size, he was taller, more muscular defined. Deimos was not an easy so to read, and one of few words with a wicked power to command. When silver eyes swept across the field to his steel colored coat, to the tip of his spiraled horn, and blue eyes she felt like she was provoking hell's angel. There was none to witness, but the forest to her far left. Since this was practice she had chosen good open ground, but in the privacy of the forest. The springs were somewhere behind him, to her right, and she wondered if she would need a visit to them when this was done.
It was her first move, and her mind formed a couple pictures. The choices she had made when against a red stallion, and another of black and white. What they had done, and what she could use to her advantage. It was hard in a spar when one did not want to maim, and kill their opponent, causing harm with no warrant. Touching Deimos in any way was likely to cause a backward reaction. How she would have to remind herself, or would she? She had never lingered close.
Quickly, she cleared her mind sucking one last measure of air. Her brows creased, gaze flickering from one point of shoulder to the other. The breath built in her chest, and her forelegs grabbed for ground, hind pillars shoving her into a canter. Faelene was all about head on, and wanted him to believe that intention. There was no clue to what he would do, but she doubted he would stand still. Regardless, she drove straight to the General. The length of her neck lowered, ears flattened to neck, and her teeth bared, ready for flesh. The lady would drift to his left, turning her neck, and tipping her nose inward, then angling back out in an attempt for her horn to cut across his rib cage.
[Word Count:479]
[Attack:1/3]
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![[Image: faeleneicon.png]](http://i800.photobucket.com/albums/yy285/schwartze_asylum/faeleneicon.png)
