[He was right not to expect it from her. Not just because she detested magic in the same way that she distrusted all things foreign and jarring to a woman from a world medieval, but because... she had never given Amos any reason to suspect that she was inclined or talented in those arts. For all that she had been fool enough to spend her time with him before (what a fool, what an accursed, bleeding fool), she had never betrayed her hand beyond her archery skills.
But there were few Oracles remaining to be claimed, and she had to use fucking magic.
And it works. (This time).
The second shot goes towards where she'd been a meter ago, the third into the ground, and then they collide with a clap of sound that echoes in the woodland, heavy weight against heavy weight, but one of them doesn't know enough yet to be an immovable force. Her arms wrap temporarily around his chest and one shoulder, she wrests to the side with all of her strength, and his legs betray him. She goes down with him, but only partially, because she knows how to brace her weight and lock her knees, how to move her equine body in a way that no horse ever, ever would.
The fourth shot rips past her face as she snarls, half-deafening from the proximity and burning where it leaves a notch of ripped flesh in the tip of her ear. But she doesn't care about that. One of her hooves slams into the ground just behind the shoulder joint of his foreleg, she kicks away at his back, and from the sheath at her "waist" she pulls a short blade of her own. She didn't need to borrow his fancy little dagger anymore. Not here.
As much as he might want to protect that gun... He might at least need the arm to prevent the weapon from finding a place in his chest. After the Iconoclast trial, those long, quiet moments in the tunnel where it felt like they might even understand each other...
She knows where his shard is. (But he knows where hers is, too.)]
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But there were few Oracles remaining to be claimed, and she had to use fucking magic.
And it works. (This time).
The second shot goes towards where she'd been a meter ago, the third into the ground, and then they collide with a clap of sound that echoes in the woodland, heavy weight against heavy weight, but one of them doesn't know enough yet to be an immovable force. Her arms wrap temporarily around his chest and one shoulder, she wrests to the side with all of her strength, and his legs betray him. She goes down with him, but only partially, because she knows how to brace her weight and lock her knees, how to move her equine body in a way that no horse ever, ever would.
The fourth shot rips past her face as she snarls, half-deafening from the proximity and burning where it leaves a notch of ripped flesh in the tip of her ear. But she doesn't care about that. One of her hooves slams into the ground just behind the shoulder joint of his foreleg, she kicks away at his back, and from the sheath at her "waist" she pulls a short blade of her own. She didn't need to borrow his fancy little dagger anymore. Not here.
As much as he might want to protect that gun... He might at least need the arm to prevent the weapon from finding a place in his chest. After the Iconoclast trial, those long, quiet moments in the tunnel where it felt like they might even understand each other...
She knows where his shard is. (But he knows where hers is, too.)]