"Warrior of dusks be myself Dov!" the child bleated as he plunged toward the cliffs, sail-like wings and his rudder of a tail the only thing keeping him afloat in the clouds. Upon his person was a great deal of 'armor', or rather a collection of fallen roof tiles from one of the Dusk Court towers strung together with meticulously peeled and preppared strips of waxy cyprus bark. 
'Yap!' the bonded had replied telepathically from his place between the colt's wings.
The stone-like armor which seemingly weighed half a tonne was what Damascus had spent the bettwe half of a week since his birthday creating all in the name of his new rank.
The young warrior (in training) was plunging toward the cliffs where lay an unsuspecting dummy made purely of collected branches and a piece of old furniture stolen form within the court itself, all arranged into an equine-shaped arrangement upon the cliffs edge where Damascus planned to ferociously strike it down to a rocky, watery demise.
'Go left-ish!' Dohv screeched, grabbing a fistful of feathers in preparation for a spine-snapping turn. (Damascus of course went right, and Dohv promptly told him to go to the other left.) "Good warriors are we being!" Damascus boomed, this time setting his sights directly upon the horse-shaped target.

As with many things Damascus had planned from beginning to end, it did not go completely to plan.
Driving his winged bodice upon the wind at full speed toward splintering, unforgiving cliffs had never been a good idea ('armour' or not) and despite the jerboa upon his shoulders shouting directions into his brain, there was little finesse in the swaying and swooping bird. 

First came a frantic scurry of hooves as they clipped the top of the target, taking merely a chip out of the furniture and leaving Damascus to tumble over and over in the earth beneath. Dohv was sent half a mile into the forest, unlikely to be retrieved until he could hop out into the clearing - Not even saving Dohv was appropriate justification for Damascus to gather up his tail, plunge his wings into his sides and squirm through the tiny claustrophobic spaces forests always had. 
With his hand-crated armor laying in pieces upon the ground either side of him, Damascus curled over into a sitting position, turning a hoof toward the shattered pieces with a sigh.
"More practise I need..." he murmured with a glance to the dummy.