Crash.
Shoulder of brilliant, burnished gold hitting the murky brown in this dull light. The force of her own body slamming into another wracking through all limbs, causing a pang to shoot from her right side to where the muscles were already bruising. Still, there is no sense of hesitancy in the figure of Sage, pastel eyes grim and determined, glinting harshly in the light of the stars. As long as the Dragonheart breathed, this was her home. Sage would not lose. However, the girl would have to think quick and cleverly. In order to keep herself from damaging her own figure, the pegasus allows her figure to be thrown back by the force expounded from Lena's own body, neck winding left far enough to grasp onto hair before she is tossed back toward her right.

Wings rush upward, heaven sent, for one fleeting moment before she evens out her balance, their positioning now awkwardly hoisted from her shoulders, wing tips curved back down toward the ground.
Legs collide with the ground, another jar of her beautiful figure, ivory tendrils slipping through the air with graceful whistles. All of her girlishly delightful appearances were not helpful here, and so the facade of an innocent looked misplaced, especially with the twisted expression of one so pissed off.

More so than the flash of ebony in the light of the moon, a looming shadow of a tree ahead of the mare causes Sage to ride the flow of her body right, hooves crushing into the dirt, twisting further right, until her left haunch was a small distance off from where Sage remembered seeing the brawny shoulder of Lena in the night. If only these woods were lighted as well as the clearings filled with flowers, it would be easier to make a sure aim. The little pull forward, mostly headed off by a jerk toward the right, results in the tip of Lena's horn slicing minimally upon the broad barrel of the golden beauty, just behind her left shoulder. As if the burnished metal had somehow rusted, crimson pours unto the bright coat, almost painlessly for one breathless moment. Upon her exhale, Sage feels the sting of the thin slice as cool air rushes into the opened flesh, not a serious wound, but one that was bloody painful.

"Bitch," the warrior grunts under her breath in an exhale, even as her back hooves lift off the ground, aiming low for the upper legs or underbelly of this horrid mare's right side. The attack is reactionary and violent, her hooves offer little mercy to whatever fell within their range - hair, flesh, even air... That's right - even the air would be sorry.

Not wanting the rest of her left side to be a permanent target for the sharpened tip of the black sword, as soon as her hooves jet back to the earth, Sage pivots her body right, wanting to get away from the pointed weapon. Moving herself into better position, Sage places the more shapely rump in the "danger zone", as the thick flesh would be less open to perilous wounds. Flashing one swift, deterrent kick toward the area Sage believed Lena's head to be, she tries to push away away, out of the area where the brutal instrument would reach her. With any luck at all (not likely in the god forsaken endless night from hell) she would be able to put distance between them without additional... slices.

Madryn and Maskan were right. She had chosen the perfect time to return.

[ WC: 595; 2/4.
I wanted to come off absent last night to reply to this, but was braindead and kooky after a day of moving.... so I figured a nights sleep would aid us both.
Sorry for the small delay<3 ]