Aela doesn't move away from the speared mare. Sabra comes closer and her blue eyes flick down again towards the thing that protrudes from the chest of the opalescent woman. Her expression tightens but the striped palomino refrains from saying anything more.
Confusion clouds it when the pegasus asks a question, something low and hoarse, something that reminds her of the low rumble of impending thunder. Her golden ears prick forward and then back as she lifts her proud head. What was she asking? What could she have possibly have taken from this troubled creature?
A slim foreleg rises and Aela pauses when the pegasus hisses something at her.
@[Sabra] is a hurricane but Aela is an inferno (because what else could a curse-born child be?)
"I," she spits back at the other, pausing when she feels her tongue start to tangle. "I take nothing that is n-not," she stops again. Frustration rushes the next words. "Nothing that is not mine."
And there is nothing of Sabra that Aela wants. Her hoof strikes the ground in warning but it's too late. The winged mare is already charging at her and her front leg pushes the younger one off-balance. Aela is no fighter. Her glory will never be found on a battlefield. But that doesn't mean she will allow herself to struck, to be made weak. There is a glimmer of something, of a child.
So Aela, always adapting and attempting to stay one step ahead of circumstance, tries to find her advantage. She tries to push the other mare back with her mind.
Over and over again, she charges the air with power that she knows. She knows nothing about this child but there is something behind the memory that Aela can latch on to, that catches and continues to project between them. She replays Sabra's memory of this little girl, of her frail body, and the way that it was broken apart. Aela doesn't know the reasons behind but she can feel it; something had demanded the death of the girl. It hangs heavy in the electrically-charged air, like the coming of a summer storm.