It was time.

They had been called to arms, and there was no way that the Andalusian would defy her General. Janus had settled within her home of the Windtossed Foothills as well as she had been capable of since her bitter arrival in this land called Helovia. Since the eternal darkness had swept across their land, the pale female had not wandered from the safety of the Grey's borders. Instead, she had remained at home, dutifully serving the band of mercenaries as if they were her own. And, in some strange sense, they were. They had become her family, her reason for breathing, her brothers and sisters in arms just as those in Vallhea had been...

A furious snort buffeted the mists around her face, her mind focusing on the present. This was not Vallhea. There was no girl upon her back. It was just the Grey and their unfortunate victims. They moved as one collected force of raw power and muscle, a sight to be feared, led by the hulking, brutish form of their General. Archibald led them to the Edge, to fulfill their end of the contract with the Basin. This land of twisting mists and dancing shadows was the furthest she had been from the confines of the Foothills, and so the mare did her best to assess the land around them. This was not the Foothills; trees blanketed the land, and in places the eerie mists made visibility difficult... but it was of no importance.

At this point in time, the call of battle was the only thing that mattered. Already the adrenaline coursed through her blood, causing her heart to pump with excitement. Janus was a war mare; she had been raised since birth to live for the fight, and that was what she was doing now. Crisp, cold, and calculating blue eyes peered out from the thicket of trees, watching as those around her already broke away and entered the bloodied frays of combat. Those ice-blue orbs continued to search, looking, her body yearning to find something to tear into...

There!

A lanky, pale thing flitted against the twisting darkness of the Edge. For a moment Janus watched the creature, sizing her up, a she-Pegasus with four wings. How very peculiar. Janus thought of Mesec and Irrydae in the Foothills, and Phaedra, the Grey's flirt and elite spy who had accompanied them to war. They too had wings, but not like this one's. Despite herself, curiosity bubbled within the Andalusian's pale breast, yet it did nothing to cool the fire, the yearning to fight.

The urge to attack became too much, and Janus collected her lithe mass beneath her and pushed herself forward. It was time. Cream-kissed hooves carried the ivory dancer towards her opponent, hoof beats creating a staccato against the musty earth, pink lips opening to release a battle cry. Shrill as an eagle's cry the sound bellowed across the land, bouncing off trees and echoing through the frigid air. Sapphire orbs narrowed dangerously as she approached the young Four-Winged, hooves sinking into the earth. Ears pinned, Janus charged, breaths leaving her deep chest in sharp arcs.

During her charge, Janus planned her attack, sizing up her opponent. They were different, the two mares. The Four-Winged one was of draft decent, the war mare could tell, a sturdy build with muscles that rippled with power. This pale, mystery-bred Pegasus was nowhere close to the great mass of Archibald, but there was power there that Janus would do well not to ignore. Where Janus herself was built for agility and speed, this thin draft-mutt would not have such graces.

'Come, child,' Janus' mind hissed, ears tipping back as she closed the distance between them. With what Janus assumed was four yards between them, if Azale herself had not made any form of advancement, she slowed her charge from a furious gallop to a slow canter, knowing that the momentum could hinder her advance instead of aid it. 'Let us see what you can do.'

With hope that her charge would place her in front of Azale, Janus wanted to be about two yards from Azale before the Andalusian dropped her right shoulder to shift to the right, aiming for Azale's left side. Janus was hoping that with her quick advance she could crowd the ivory creature and overwhelm her. Pulling her haunches beneath her and gathering her balance, Janus grit her teeth as her lithe bulk slid to a stop to Azale's left, dirt curdling beneath her and and rocks upturning as her hooves dug into the ground. Stretching her neck out, the Andalusian's teeth flashed upwards, aiming for the front of Azale's wing joint.

'Fight me, child! Pretender!'

[Wordcount: 778 words.
1/4 attacks.
Janus charges Azale from the northern trees, attempting to come to a stop on Azale's left side. She also attempts to crowd Azale with her advance, and then aims a bite towards the front of Azale's wing-joint.]