A snort had rattled out of her nostrils in a rather offended manner when he dared to utter that she was anything but perfect. Who was he to say that she was verging on perfection when she was quite quintessential. Perhaps a few brain cells had been seared away when that scar of his had been branded onto his cheek, or maybe it was because he had been brought up in a primal environment. Either way, Ghost had smirked in the end, not because she found it particularly amusing, but instead she sniggered at his gruff audacity. He was okay, in a beast like way, or more, she was attracted to the way his body rippled rather than the prospect of an intelligent conversation. Perhaps it was arrogant of her, or rather it was arrogant of her, but everyone had their vices. Ghost knew quite well that she wasn’t at all perfect, but the rest of the world wasn’t allowed to know that, the rest of the world didn’t have to know anything. It was better that way, less hassle and less gossip.

In the end she had goaded herself and had been goaded by the devil in front of her into a fight that was for nothing but a tale. Yet, Ghost wanted to know, he had tempted her with a story and then left it unfinished. If she had to beat him up for the sequel then so be it, even if she had to draw blood herself, she would hear an ending to his sorry saga. Abaddon the primal, who thought she was verging on perfect, would learn not to taunt the flawless.

As her horn cut into his shoulder she felt a familiar feeling of satisfaction that came with the first blow. He might have the brawn and some alluring muscle tone, but he surely was not as agile as herself and she would dance him into submission if she could, all to hear what happened next. Yet, as she completed her skirmish, she felt him move away from her and the banshee began to collect her canter before turning to seek out where her scar-faced opponent had gone. However, he was already up in the air when she turned and Ghost took in a sharp breath at the sudden enormity of his height, her vision becoming obscured from all the sand he had kicked up. In this very moment she felt like she was wilting under a mountain and flashbacks of Archibald made her heart jump to her throat making her falter as she began to stumble back from him. The hellion stallion bore down on her and his horns struck true, scraping a nasty looking gash onto her check and into the exposed part of her neck as she scrambled to break free of him. Thinking back to her fight with the Dauntless, Ghost meekly remembered that, whilst her agility was far greater, the power of these goliath fighters made her feel like a stray leaf in a great storm. It was enough to drag a painful grunt from her lips as he drew blood from her beautifully sculptured face. She could feel her annoyance growing with the pain, not at him, but at herself for being so incompetent and easy.

She carried on backing away from him, not wanting to be anywhere near his rather large hooves that had bore down on her so threateningly earlier. Instead, she would go where he couldn’t follow, because he wasn’t blessed with the feather and the flight. First, however, she paused for a passing moment to focus on the ground beneath where she thought his feet were and unleashed her ice magic on that spot. Hopefully he would spend too much time trying to keep his own feet from slipping, leaving her free to reach for the sky and into, she prayed, a fleeting moment of safety.

Ghost winced as she bounced forwards into a brisk canter; the sand that had been kicked up was stinging the wound on her cheek, adding more to her irritation. She battled on, flapping her wings and lifting herself upwards; taking a moment to survey the scene below before picking out where she thought was her best opportunity. She tried to circle him, like a vulture waiting for the right moment to feast of its prey, before diving in once again and, this time, she aimed to smack her rear hooves against the top of his withers.