The brush of feathers against a silken black coat, I feel it before the violent shove. Halting upon my limbs after the energy dissipates, I look forward with dark eyes, noting the stupid stubborn resolve on her face. She offers what sounds a half-hearted answer, despite staying to be my target for anger, revenge, vehemence. I am the Resolute, so I should understand. I try to place myself back, back before my time at the helm of Helovia. I remember facing the Steadfast in our invasion of the Cliffs. I remember losing. I remember my stupid hope to win. I understand.
Still, now I understand the perspective of one I simply could not before - Adalwulf. How he must have thought me a skull full of feathers in that situation.
I understand, but I still cannot relent.

My breath begins to feel heavy in my chest as I run, the adrenaline or my anger finally beginning to wane. Perhaps understanding the bitch was the last thing I needed. I smile quietly to myself, but I do not slow. I race forward, the pain of my injuries pounding with my hooves, my shoulder diving into her flank, feeling her give way like a sapling. I feel no victory anymore. I feel as though I am fighting the shadow of my former self, with all of my conviction and belief poured into the pegasus of Isilme. How stupid I had been, but had I not been right? My kin were strong, despite the opinion of others at the time. I could not doubt that Faelene and her kin were strong, for was that not why I was pushing so hard to aid my companions?
I was scared of what they might do, but she would never know that. Not if I had a say, anyway.

Because of the little resistance offered from her limbs, I feel no shaking recoil, only the force of the sudden impact on my shoulder before she fell away. My speed is not slowed, not until I see the barb of a horn stretched out before me, wings flaring up and out, knees locking and hind end dropping. I call upon the wind to propel backwards, filling the sails of my feathers with opposing force which slows, but not fast enough. The stab is missed, saving me from a deep painful stick, undoubtedly, but instead my slide continues because of the poor tract of the frosty grounds, upper left shoulder brushing against the blade, a gash tearing forth in the muscle, a matching scar upon both sides. The pain joins that caused by the rattling of my limbs and legs, feeling my force done unto myself. Retribution for Faelene, I suppose.

I snort, surprised by her sudden tactics, though I am uncertain why it caught me off guard. Has she not been trying to stick me like a bug this whole fight? Angrily, my teeth snap after her horn, her face, hoping to grab hold of something before I throw my head down to tear flesh, break keratin, or look ridiculous, depending on my catch. Releasing my possible grasp upon a horn, I then shift my weight fully onto my hind, curving in a smooth pivot toward the right, kicking out with my back legs once my forehooves meet the ground once more. I do not know what the aim would be, likely a her right shoulder or neck.

Those feelings I have tried to ignore for the better part of this battle come to life with sinking clarity. The gash upon my shoulders, the bruises upon my body, the soreness of limbs, and the aching caused by the cold air. I close my eyes and try to scurry away from her side, hoping that when I turn back around she will no longer be standing.
Denial can only carry you so far.

[ WC: 645; 4/4; MC: 1/2; Kri is using buffs SWIFT and NUMB. ]