That Hubris had opted out of this little exercise in releasing steam is not unexpected, though it did encourage the rising feeling of anxious frustration that had exploded within Isopia. It only underscored her feeling of being utterly alone in what she was dealing with.

Her frustration increased as she received not the scream of terror she had thought her water-creature would encourage, and not even an oooof as her tail struck against the unicorn's chest and neck. Instead, she got some smarmy, smart-ass reply that made her want to childishly grab a handful of sand and shove it down the throat of the one who was speaking. It was a petty response, one that Isopia normally would have thought herself so far above, but hadn't this buffoon just been assaulted by a dragon? By a creature that literally formed itself from the frothing waves, and then left the ocean to attack him? She wanted to use this pair as a way to displace her anger at Volterra, and to dress it up as a life lesson for the stallion, so that she wouldn't have to feel guilty about it. She had wanted to hear him scream the way Volterra never would, and she had been robbed of that.

And so, still with the mental image of shoving his nose into the sand prominent in her mind, Isopia blundered on, completely forgetting the meager amount of battle-training she had learned up until this point as well as her familiarity with unicorns and just what a spear-like horn could do. She was blinded by her lack of emotional intelligence, and was unable to cope with the rising bile of hatred she could feel in the back of her throat any other way. 

Though Hubris could likely have warned her that Rikyn's current trajectory suggested he was going to try and use his horn against her, he refrained. If she had forgotten so much of what she always professed to stand for that she would willingly attack someone just so she could feel better, then she deserved to reap the outcome all on her own. 

Because she hadn't folded her wings in to her sides, it was through her right that Rikyn's horn pierced. A few of her secondary feathers fluttered to the ground as the thin skin there was skewered neatly through, and then torn unceremoniously as Rikyn's horn followed the trajectory of his head. Pain tore through Isopia's frustration with a shocking white-hot slap to her senses. She hadn't been expecting that at all, and as blood, tinted black by the night sky, trickled onto the cold sands, Isopia's mouth unconsciously formed an O of surprise. 

However that O quickly became a scream of pain as Rikyn's hooves connected flatly against her shoulder and wing joint. He was nimble, she could give him that, but it had been her stupefied mind that had truly allowed the attack to happen. How could she have been so stupid? So riled by emotions? So thoughtless and senseless?

In a word? Volterra.

The contrast of needle-sharp pain in her wing combined with the aching muscle-deep pain in her shoulder and joint made the demi-goddess's eyes water as a warble of pain left her lips. Quickly she tried to stifle the sound, but found that allowing the pain to exit her body as a scream actually helped, and so she gave into the sensation, bellowing her disapproval at her own stupidity and lamenting the wounds that now blazed across her right side. 

Her golden gaze could only see Rikyn's leonine tail and retreating haunches as his legs retracted against his body. She didn't know enough about sparring or if/how the sand would play into his decisions, and so Isopia couldn't even hazard a guess which way the unicorn might go. She was out of her depth, and the feeling of ignorance that came with that realization only further stoked the frustration still neatly kindled in her belly. With the same childish impatience she had felt when the stallion had first taunted her, Isopia reached out for the ground beneath his hooves. She wanted to create a dragon out of the earth upon which he was currently standing, hoping to simultaneously upset his balance , but also to force that earth to rise, and try to strike him in the stomach. However her aim was admittedly poor, for while her reaction time was quick, her strategic consideration was just as fast, and was therefore uninformed. 

"Baddie isn't even a word." She breathed, wincing as she tried to fold her wounded wing against her wounded shoulder. Defensively, she tried to position her left side towards him, to try and give her right a temporary respite.

Clearly she wouldn't be flying away from this battle.