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A real victory would be the end of all the madness, and hate. When the sun would rise above the mountains and light up the world below with a new start. All Faelene could worry about was enjoying a day where time, race, and rank didn't matter. A part of her believed this was the way the Gods were damning them all. In this darkness, without guidance, and their own rules and moral codes. The ache in her chest, a sudden hindrance to her lungs, was all this worth it? Was it a step toward progress? The red maned had no idea how the efforts of the Basin were going. If they failed they would only be hated more, maybe obliterated for it all.
One by one, in small battles like this.
The wind brings to rip against ears, and tug at tendrils of crimson, making eyes start to water from its building strength. An invisible companion of the determined commander no longer seems the friend of the red maned. When the silver bay doesn't falter with the oncoming threat, Faelene is not surprised. Kri was set in her convictions, in doing what she must or she would not be the Resolute. Something she could admire, and hate her for. Was she herself that certain? Was this what she should do? How to make a change?
Again, another turn of the violet ballet begins and she feels her silver horn connect with skin and flesh, ripping its coarse upward. Nostrils fill with the rustic aroma of blood, and despite the swirling vortex beginning its crush she can't rid of that scent. It has always been overpowering ever since she came into this world, it was ironic how it followed her. Suddenly, the thump of silver hooves strong on a bay back seemed distance when being overwhelmed with the violet wind, the painful strike that had the rest of her chest feeling like she was submerged in a wave of hot rocks. Her brows set deeper against her eyes, lips in a stubborn line, trying to see through the intensify of the air, when her legs dropped to the tilting earth. She is trying to hold her fight, trying to hold on. Then dark face becomes a wince, and widened look without clarity because of the power.
Dying, she swiftly decided should be much easier then this. When her lungs were empty, when the shadows had began to blur she waited for the pain to be over. It continued to silently scream through each cell, because Faelene couldn't do anything but feel the electric sensation she had called upon, while her hooves dug through the dead grass into the damp ground, holding her up. With veins lit up like an over done Christmas tree,like the first time she had been given her magic, it was almost instant her silver eyes began to come in focus on the delicate cut outs of the trees. She caught the glimpse of feathers, and turned her head away, as the appendage struck her in the side of the top of her right shoulder, before being pushed away. New found strength in receiving breath, she focuses on the magic, turning her head to see the target, and continues to give the power life. The concentration knits her brows in deep furrow, watching it place Kri away. "I know," She only agrees, feeling it begin to fade and the taste of the broken power began to leave her vessels. While her chest was rather bruised from the force of hooves, Faelene doesn't crumble. The hind limb that had been bitten began to shake, but she faced her opponent with a steady look.
Hardly, her words left lips when the bull in Pegasus form charges. The direction leaves little doubt of the Throat leader's want to cripple her captor. Spinning her haunches to the right, she tries to leave Kri with nothing to hit. There is weakness in her joint, and Kri's pace rapid. Now, magic is not an option. Kri's shoulder rams into her right flank, and all the bones through her frame tingle and sear with pain. Faelene is shoved, stepping clumsily with blood squirting from her torn hock, hooves fighting against the slick moisture not to fall. Managing to force her weight into her front limbs in a short scramble, teeth grinding she continues to finish her circle. Then lowers her head, snaking her neck outward, aiming her horn to the right in a swift stabbing motion, hoping to hit the already wounded neck, or leave a mark in the chest, or possible shoulder should the commander still be near her right side. Such a hit needed an answer, and while she could force her body forward she would.
[Word Count:795 Attack 4/4 Magic Use:1/3]
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[JUDGED] Time to go. [Challenge, Faelene]
![[Image: faeleneicon.png]](http://i800.photobucket.com/albums/yy285/schwartze_asylum/faeleneicon.png)
