Sacre wanted to ask what had changed Mauja’s opinion. Whilst the lad was very happy that a lust for blood no longer fuelled the guy, or at least it appeared that way, he also wanted to know what had sparked the alteration in his opinion. Why hadn’t it changed his fathers? What had Mauja done that d’Artagnan hadn't for their lives to go in opposite directions? Sacre felt, that if he understood that part, then he would worry less about descending into a murdering madman, something he so easily could have been—could be. Yet, the fox boy was only drawing one word answers from the former Queen, perhaps it was time for action not words, and if later he still had questions, he would ask them then. It was that or risk standing there all day, as Sacre’s endless need to ask whatever came into his head, killed the battling mood. This was his first real battle and he felt nervous, as he had charged forwards, his mind playing through the next steps.

Was this right? What if he hurt Mauja?

However, even as his hooves connected sweetly with his slow starting opponent and the impact rattled up his legs, another sharper feeling clenched in his gut. It was a jolt of pain so sudden it made him grunt as the stick of the Frozen Light stuck a cut across his hock, sending rivulets of blood oozing down towards his hoof. Sacre had always thought pain was always the same, it hurt in the moment and dulled later, he’d cut himself the odd time by accident as a foal, and that was what physical pain was in his young mind. Yet, this kind of pain was different. It wasn’t self-inflicted, it wasn’t an accident—it was on purpose and it sent panic waves through his body.

The fox boy stumbled forward, almost banging his nose on the ground whilst his thoughts ran rampant; "what do I do now?!"  

"Sacre! Sacre!" Ríona called urgently into his mind, she was bounding forwards now, electricity leaking out from her tiny body as she fired a snaking whip towards the general vicinity of Mauja, her six tails sparking around her. "Zap" she giggled to her struggling bonded. Sacre grimaced; he now had one vaguely red hock to match the rest of the red that marked his body. The fox boy often wondered if anyone would ever be able to tell if he was actually bleeding or whether it was just his fur that loved to grow in violent crimson patches.

Seeing this as his chance, he swallowed the pain that dogged his movements and attempted to round on Mauja, albeit slower than usual. Sacre’s piercing gaze targeted a spotted shoulder, the right one and one he hoped would have teeth marks in later as he went to see if he could try sample a little of what Mauja the Frozen Light, formerly the Frostheart, tasted like. Even now, the fox boy still hesitated to even use his horn, preferring to kick and bite, rather than pierce or inflict the wrath of magic. It just didn't feel right to direct such passionate savageness towards a friend... Was he right to hold back? Or was he being naïve? He felt the storm come alive around him, whipping his unruly mane about his troubled face and setting an atmosphere that was fitting for a spar.

Only Mauja right now, he felt, could give him a hint to the answer he sought.