Escape.
Never had the skies been so sweet. Her wings beat a staccato against the air, striking out and taking a perverse sort of pleasure in imagining it recoiling against her wrath. Her mother had merely stared when she had announced her plan to leave before she had dared to turn her back on her child! Even now, Sacrifice ground her sharp teeth together, the insult still stinging. No matter. Let that old crone rot in her ways. She was sign of great things to come, a six-winged herald of a new age of power.
Power that, one way or another, would be hers.
Her nostrils flared even as she suddenly folded her wings and dove. They snapped open mere inches from the ground, and the strain was almost enough to make her gasp before she could properly land. Too tricky a stunt, and her red eyes roamed balefully as though to make certain no one had seen her failure.
Not knowing what, exactly, she was looking for, Ritual stalked forward, savagely kicking out a rock with a front hoof as she did so. Power. All that mattered in this world was power, and she would obtain it no matter the cost.
