Pain. Some would describe it as a mental problem that can be easily ‘overcome’ by the appropriate mentality. Those who had never fought think of it as a heroic thing; how one must be tough and strong and powerful, to overcome this pain. That it’s a very simple thing to ignore.

It’s not. Both mental and physical pain hurts like a bitch, and nothing will change that, at least not in the stormchild that was Hespera, the once-goddess, forced in mortality and encased with the flimsy body of a mortal. Before her entrance in Helovia, Hespera’s world was full of pain; anguish, fury, and burning hate. She would not shed her tears, not ever, nor would she let fall her burden onto another’s shoulders. The burden that had grown into her shoulders, tree roots twining themselves into the warmth of the dirt. Nobody ever asked how the soil felt about it.

Hespera had no choice. She was raised as a hero, as a mare in shining armour, and no matter how tarnished her honor and armour may be, she was expected to live up to the name she was given, like the legends of old; Pallove the Swift, Nurmor the Late, Qiuerda the Sky Holder.

Daermaethor had taught her battle, even despite her immortal form, the fact that in Stormbur she could not be touched.

As the battle call rings into the frozen air, the air that she had never tasted before Helovia, she hesitates for but a moment, even as Otienu bursts from the treetops to land heavily upon her obsidian haunches. Bursting through her is his electrical energy, the brightness of an excited young soul. She has tried to keep his innocence, keep the memories away from him that hurt her and stripped her of her own youth, but he has flipped through them all like reading a storybook when they traveled. Many of it was bloody and gory and hateful and awful; still he loved her, and for that her heart warmed. Now his enthusiasm was near screaming at her, a not-so-subtle try to persuade her. Fight!

For a moment, the shieldmaiden pauses, nerves searing her; would she be able to pull herself together, to truly fight and feel pain? She had never felt pain of the physical variety before, apart from a nick or two on her travels But for all her apprehension, the stormchild is excited.

Her lips part in an answering bugle, a clarion response to his, whomever him might be- for his battlecry is unmistakably male.

As she enters what is to be their arena in the cloaked darkness of night, she studies him with a wary eye, but for a moment. She is determined to make the first move, to try and get the upper hand from the very start. He is slender and lithe, the muscle a little weak on his frame; still there, but without the tight strength of a warrior in shape. A soldier skimping on his practices, she thinks. He is a peculiar color as well, a shimmering grullo with a dusting of gold; he shines more than her coat of darkness that fades into the shadows. Dusty also has several scars- not so many that he is constantly engaged in reckless battle, and not so few that he is untrained.

An interesting adversary, all in all.

Otienu settles on a branch above her head, tipping his beak down as he, too, assesses the stallion. The griffon’s claws make an unpleasant scratching sound as he rips at the bark with his talons. It is in this moment that the stormchild shoots forward, muscles rippling beneath obsidian coat; her hind hooves slip in the slick snow, leading to a moment of panic that she might fall (how humiliating!), but she sinks downwards. The grip is precarious, nevertheless.

As Hespera comes to his side- her right, his left- first she tips her horn, angling for a long but shallow score along the thin flesh of the rib cage, which is less protected than the fleshy, muscular shoulders and hindquarters. As she moves past, she swishes her tail towards his face, in hopes to distract him from biting her hindquarters; Hespera also lashes out at his front leg’s knee, the side closest to her. While she would hope to aim for a less fragile part of his body, because of their height difference it is difficult to kick all the way upwards.

There is no adrenaline pumping through her veins; this is cold hard reality; and unfortunately, there is no other force that takes over her, making her stronger and better and magically wonderful, like in a bad TV show. She will not spring back to 100% health; she cannot afford to make stupid mistakes.

Word Count: 800
Summary: A lot of the top is basic, boring how-did-she-get-here xD Anywho, moving to the last paragraph or two. Hespera canters to his left side, her right side; first her aims to draw a long but shallow cut along his ribcage (so no stabbing inward motions, more a long graceful sort of thing). As she moves, she swishes his tail towards his face, hopefully to prevent him from biting her sexy ass hindquarters, while also lashing out at his foreleg knee joint (closest to her).