The last time she had been here, she had followed the sound of a challenge sent to her father. She had witnessed him maim a slave who had failed hos attempt to challenge for his freedom. She had seen Rhythm turn her back on Valentine and help the slave limp off into the distance. She had seen her father's fury over the betrayal. She had helped patch up his wounds after.
This was her first time here alone.
But she was a yearling now, and carried herself with regal grace across the torn ground. Her tall body, though gangly yet as her mass had yet to catch up to her height, moved with utter dignity and confidence. She wanted to be a healer, finding a certain fascination in diagnosing and working through the puzzle of treating wounds and ailments, but equally as much she wanted to fight , as her mother did, as her father did. She would be a healer, but she would not be a weak, slackjawed idiot who couldnt do anything else. She would learn what Rhythm had to teach her about healing, but her... mentor coild teach her nothing about fighting. So, she would learn by herself , by doing.
Seating herself daintily, tucking her tail over her paws, she lifted her sharp boned head to tilt skyward and send out an imperious demand for an opponent.
