When Alysanne heard the call from Roskuld, she didn’t hesitate to push her body into motion - it was a reflex action for her now to move when she was beckoned. Anything could be waiting for her on the other side and she did not want to waste precious moments lingering.

So it wasn’t until she actually saw the other mare standing in a flat clearing that it finally clicked. She wasn’t being called for a chat, she was being called to fight. Unfortunately enough, this wasn’t an entirely new situation but at least this time she was the first to show up - at least this time there wasn’t an audience berating her for her choices. Or, well, not yet. With gentle encouraging from Hemlock, Alysanne didn’t hesitate in her stride as she approached the other mare, calling out a warm “Good afternoon, Roskuld.” as she came to stop before her, intending to leave a bit of distance between them. Not as close as she would get for just any conversation, at least.

There was a slight hesitation next, during which she could feel her muscles tensing, refusing to be anything close to relaxed. As if her body and her mind were one in despair over the actions that would be required to spar. To take harm was not something Alysanne minded, that had never been the problem - her issue lay with the giving of harm. “You’ll need to attack first.” Alysanne spoke calmly, though she was already trembling slightly. Why did she insist on doing this? It had never ended well. She could still feel the cut of Tembovu’s horn - not on her chest, where she had asked him to stab her, but on the joint of her wing - and of Erebos’ as well. She eyed Roskuld’s horn dubiously and wondered why she seemed to only spar with unicorns. Was she so eager to add more scars across her body? There was not yet a single one that she felt pride in remembering how she received it but her she was again, putting herself in another position that she would likely regret.

Unless Roskuld could awaken something within her, unless the young, spunky mare could show Alysanne that it was possible - and sometimes necessary - to fight.

After a steadying breath she spoke again, watching Roskuld carefully - her eyes soft and pleading. “And… don’t let me run away. I need to learn, however hard it is going to be.” Of course it was going to be hard. She couldn’t even imagine trying to attack, trying to hurt, the mare who had spent an early morning pulling weeds with her in the garden, who was proving to be a capable leader of their small warrior group. How did everyone in Helovia do this? How did they approach spars and challenges so casually? She felt like her heart was going to give out on her it was pounding in her chest so rapidly. Hemlock, feeding off of her nervous energy, hopped around unhappily on a nearby tree branch. She didn’t want him getting involved, and for now he was adhering to her wishes. They both remembered how Aurelia’s companion had died during a fight and though this should be a considerably more friendly affair, the risk was unnecessary. Hemlock knew how to use his small talons to inflict damage but Alysanne was made for healing, caring, and love. She knew how each of her limbs worked and trusted her muscles but when it came to using them to fight? That was unknown to her.

That was why she was here.

Hoping that she did not seem as frightened and nervous as she felt, but knowing how poorly she hid her emotions lately, Alysanne gave Roskuld a small nod indicating that she was ready and tried to brace herself for what would come next.

--------

attack: 0/3
wordcount: 648

Alysanne

the devoted