A solid thud resounds from whatever surface of velvety black Sage manages to hit, for she has not the perspective to gather the information now. Not that she is happy, but certainly proud that her long struggle on the road alone had not dulled her sense of battle completely. Even in a quick kick that was more the fast reaction due to her annoyance, she was still sharp enough to capture her prey within the deadly embrace of hardened hoof and flesh.

It was not until she had turned that teal eyes meet with the tell-tale signs of a kick on the right side of Destrier's shapely bottom. A smirk grows on her face when she sees it, twisting the perfectly innocent features into something a tad more sinister and savage. Destrier need not fear for his life, but if he cared at all for his flesh, he may have stayed from this fight. Those who knew Sage well, after all, would note her ability to put stallions in their place. With such a pretty face, she had learned that skill early on.

Partially camouflaged by the metallic light of the moon and the flowers below their hooves, Sage skulks toward the left side of her opponent without difficulty. Pastel eyes widen in surprise as she realizes immediately when his front end lifts up that he intends to ram into her. Thinner of build and much less able to take a beating from such a muscled opponent, the pegasus quickly unfurls her wings. Determined, right wing tilts upward, toward the sky, while the left wing runs down, brushing the tops of the sparkling mists with its primaries. Then her left hoof cuts down to meet its mark, teeth snapping with a jarring blow on the his thick neck even as the bountiful expanse of pale wings rushes down in the night, the right wing possibly slapping down on her opponent. Her hooves push off the ground almost instantly as well, shoving Sage into the air a few inches from the grass and flowers at their hooves.

A dark shoulder catches onto the bottom of her right side just behind the shoulder, the momentum of the larger body shoving her sharply left. Thankfully, the slapdash defense of her wing-flap saves Sage from a a possible stumble and crash to the ground, as well as minimizing the damage. Still, the rattling impact sent a crushing pain to her side, definitely leaving a nice bruise on the skin above her ribs and she is sent, parallel, a foot or so from her opponent, as if she had made a strange hop to the side.

Keeping with the momentum of her body, Sage quickly regains her poise, noble in her appearance and spirit, showing no outward signs of being intimidated by Destrier and his imposing mass, even after she was bandied about like a half-grown filly. Instead, the mare takes pride in the fact that her attacks were successful. While not the most honorable tactic to aim for the legs, injuries in such areas were effective. If her hoof had done enough damage, Destrier would be slow of movement and much clumsier, making him less of a threat. An outside observer may be shocked by the cutthroat tactics of the stoic mare, as this was her herdmate, yet Sage believed this fight was more than a friendly spar. Destrier needed to prove to he was better suited as Wingleader, and by allowing his legs to be so easily injured... the mare was skeptical.

Didn't Madryn say he had proven himself through battle?
Suspect.

Trying to catch with his stride, Sage lets out a cowkick aimed for the thick left gaskin or possibly closer toward the stifle. Next, she takes advantage of her lithe figure, more suited for speed than force, to jet forward, attempting to launch out in front of Destrier and cut off his movements. She halts suddenly after one more stride, allowing her weight to fall forward, extending her wings for extra balance as she kicks outward, hooves searching for a chest, a face, a neck, anything within her reach. As she extends, the muscles upon her ribs screech out in protest. However, Sage would not let her pain show to the Wingleader. If she was deserving of his spot, she had damn well not show such weakness. Gritting her teeth, the golden beauty swallows her pain.

[ WC: 737; 2/4. ]