Aryel was not the type to handle forced inactivity well. She was eternally grateful to the horses of the Day court for taking her in and caring for her while her battered body healed, but days of nothing but rest and taking it easy was starting to drive her up the goddamn wall. She hadn't flown in what felt like ages, and the mere presence of a roof and walls was beginning to make her feel claustrophobic. Not to mention that she had yet to find Java. It was driving her insane to know he could be out there alone. The moment she felt well enough to leave the safety of the court walls, she was off, nothing but a shadow across the desert sands as she winged her way south towards the mountains.
As she crested their peaks, rejoicing in the feeling of wind and sunlight, she caught sight of the rolling steppes spreading out before her. A wave of nostalgia rose up at the sight, so similar to the northern prairies she had been born in. She tucked in her wings and dove, squinting into the rushing wind and whooping with glee as the ground loomed before her.
Before she could be dashed to pieces in the dust, she flared her wings and rocketed upwards again, finally leveling out into a steady glide high above the ground. She flew in slow, lazy circles, riding the wind up and down and surveying the hills beneath her. When the distant bellow rang out, her ears perked in interest, and she broke away from her circling and headed towards the source of the cry, an answering neigh carrying through the air. Part of her knew it was a bad idea to put her still-healing body through both a long-distance flight and a spar, but she was desperate to burn off some of the frustration building up within her.
Spotting the dark form below was easy, but as she glided down, hooves outstretched to meet the ground in a running gallop, she began to think she might have bitten off more than she could chew. The stallion before her was massive in comparison to her, and scarred by gods only knew what. Still, she was never one to back down from a challenge. She cantered to a stop before him, brows furrowed and a challenge glinting in her eyes. "You wanna fight, huh?" she muttered, dipping her head to display the black horns raking back from her skull. Her wings flared at her sides, the feathers rising up to seemingly double her size. If he was looking for a battle, she'd happily oblige him.
The other was only given a moment to prepare before she was off, hooves cutting into the turf and sending it flying behind her as she charged. Head remained down and shoulders were thrust forward as she galloped at him, the base of her horns aimed at his chest with her six-hundred-pound-odd weight behind them. Perhaps there were fancier martial arts, but she had spent her formative years among her father's kind, who tended to favor a more primitive approach to combat.
