Martin's mother Cassia had very much intended for her son to follow in her hoofprints and join his elder sister in the guardian corps. He didn't mind - he enjoyed combat training and looked forward to testing his strength and his will against his classmates. His insatiable curiosity had never felt particularly sated by cloistering himself away and studying the history of the vale, and he of course had little natural talent for healing. Battle, it turned out, was a career path that aligned his interests almost perfectly with those of his parents.
Walking away from them all and - by extension - his future among the vale's protectorate had been a shock to him perhaps most of all.
The gilded unicorn grinned at Rostislav, reining in the eagerness at the opportunity to test himself against the skills of another horse for the first time in quite a while - and this, a complete stranger. Well before his fourth naming day he had learned enough about his prospective opponents that sparring had become more of a dance than a contest.
This should be a proper contest.
"Well met, Rostislav. I am Martin, and I accept your challenge. However..." Glancing around him at the various stone structures surrounding them, not the least of which was the column from which the now-contested trinket had emerged. Even if the thought of battling here did not strike him as the height of disrespect to the court itself, there was too little space here to really fight. Martin wrinkled his nose. "Perhaps we should remove ourselves to a more suitable arena?"
@Rostislav - to the Steppe!
