With unexpected enthusiasm Bexley goes barreling into the Day Court: a tangle of white hair and slender limbs that, as they hit the ground, send sand spraying in a pale golden arc through the air. Sun gleams off the scab on her neck, the smoky purple bruise across her ribs. If one were to get close they would see the fervency of her blue eyes - that feverish gleam over the pinpoint pupils - azure gaze blooming and searching the dilapidated building for any sign of her new mentor, with nothing to show for it. She slows, hooves scraping in the dust. At a lazy trot Bexley moves farther into the Court, head dipping, gaze making laps to find Leviathan, with a mixture of warmth and excitement buzzing through her veins.
Her mane and tail are wound into tight braids, far from their usual wildness, but Bexley moves so bouncily that a few strands have wafted from their hiding place, coming to rest in a halo against her cheeks. It’s so early in the morning that she’d still consider it cold - breezy without any warmth, only a watery sun to light the desert around her. Normally that would be frustrating, but she comes to a full stop with a grin on her face, chest tingling with eagerness. Now only to wait: Bex isn’t much good at that, but Leviathan seems worth sticking around for.
He was surprised to see her there before him; then again, Leviathan had been a little on the lagging side thanks to his injuries. He'd washed them out this morning at the oasis, cleaned away sand and salt, dirt and debris. As much as his wounds pulled and tugged, he still walked with his pride, stepping in to the Court to find Bexley waiting, his head lifting and eye focusing on her. "Eager?" He offered a grin despite the way he'd sounded, stepping up and shaking himself. Part of him was still damp, his tail and mane sticking against his body in strange places, hair wrapped around his horns as his scarred head turned toward her.
"First day of training is simple," he started, clearing his throat and straightening up tall. After the teryr, he knew what had to be worked on, for the most part. "We're here to build up your endurance and strength, and also, see what creativity you have when attacking." His stance shifted, in to something more so defensive than anything else, hooves sliding on the ground and his head lowering the merest fraction of an inch. "Come at me, Bexley. I want to see what attacks you have."
He was a hundred percent certain he'd be able to predict her moves while she was about to make them, but that's what made him a good warrior, being able to read attacks. He would teach her how to be more subtle about them.
It doesn’t take long for Leviathan to show, which Bexley is immeasurably pleased by - she’s never been one for patience, to wait and think, more of an ask for forgiveness than permission kind of girl - he must know that, and Solis bless him for not making her wait. As his hoof steps sound behind her, she turns, insistent against the tug in her side, and grins. It’s surprisingly genuine. All wilderness and overexcitement, too comfortable to bother hiding her happiness. Eager? More than, she laughs, sheepish. A tingle of heat spreads across her skin, her cheeks, each limb, each muscle, until she could just as well be a ball of energy as a girl, uncontainable and overwhelming.
She listens to his spiel with wide eyes and ears flickering to catch each word, but it’s evident that none of it really registers. Slips through her brain without leaving its mark. The only thing that she fully understands is come at me, and then that wild, sharkish smile splits open her face again, and she wriggles in place, testing the ground under her hooves, the air around her, the warmth of the atmosphere. All at once Bexley is back in the canyon with the Teryr thrashing above her, and through the haze of reminiscence in her eyes, she’s calculating again: the strength of Leviathan’s huge body, his stance, head dipping, legs spreading.
For a moment Bexley thinks, paranoid, this was stupid, and that is a thought that truly sticks with her - repeats and ricochets - but, stubborn as ever, she ignores it and refocuses.
He’s stronger than she is, and bigger, and more experienced, and the only advantage she could possibly have is the speed afforded to her by such a slender body, such spindly legs. With that in mind, she digs her heels into the ground and springs forward as quickly as she can with a whirl toward his side, hoping to land her front hooves across his shoulder, ribs, anything - it’ll be a miracle if she gets anything at all.
![[Image: 500_by_memuii-dbfxt60.png]](http://orig02.deviantart.net/75f6/f/2017/192/d/5/500_by_memuii-dbfxt60.png)
