It had taken less than an hour. In a final screaming wave of horseflesh rolling across the battlefield, it was over. An eerie hush descended over the plains, punctuated only by the galloping thuds of hoofbeats and the cries of the injured. Miraculously, Aryel herself had suffered no wounds aside from a stinging speck of dust in her eye. The Foothills horses had been so badly outnumbered, though, that it didn't surprise her. The mare she had previously slammed stood a few feet away, tottering unsteadily on shaking legs. The roan pegasus left her alone. The fight was over, there was no need to push the injured mare any further. Instead, she swept her gaze over the battlefield. Many horses, most of them Foothills, lay on the ground, she couldn't tell if they were breathing or not. Oh gods, how she hoped she hadn't killed anyone. As she scanned the field searching worriedly for her herdmates, she did not feel the sense of glory and pride she assumed would be present after her first real battle.

Instead she felt sick to her stomach.

Did she regret helping Kri uphold their end of the deal with the Gray? No.
Did she regret having to push horses out of their home to accomplish that? Yes.

She tried to tell herself that if they hadn't helped the Gray, the mercenaries might have sided with Catallatio. She tried to tell herself that anything they could do to thwart him was justified. She tried to tell herself that it better the Foothills than the Throat. It didn't help very much. A change had occurred in the spitfire mare. She was not as naive to the ways of the world as she used to be. There wasn't just "good" and "evil" in her eyes anymore. Sometimes things were a confusing muddle of morals and points of view. It would take some time for the mare to recover from the reflective melancholy that would soon set it, but she would be her old self again, albeit more mature, when she came to terms with what had transpired today.

And it didn't change her loyalty to Kri. She still respected the brown mare, idolized her even. Aryel had know the fighting would not be pleasant when she agreed to assist the Gray. But she wanted to pull her weight in the herd, to prove that she could deserve her rank of Sergeant.

But was it worth it?

With a sigh, she set her face in an expressionless mask and waited for the Throat warriors to regroup. She couldn't let them see her waver, not for a moment. She didn't want them falsely assuming her loyalty was in question. No telling what they'd do if they thought she sympathized with the Foothills.

Walk walk walk walk.
"Talk talk talk talk."