just to learn a spell or two in character!

Acheron made her way back into Polaris, unhurried. After pausing to eye the Spire (with a stretch of each leg) she looked around, wondering where was best to practice.

Her father--her lifegiver--had brought her here once before, to train. Had explained that the strength of the magicka in Polaris made it more difficult to practice--but that once she mastered her spells here, it'd be far easier to cast them anywhere else. She assumed his words to be true, so here she was: an idle day turned into training. She did want to get better--to master her magic, the way her dad did--but it was more an idle determination rather than any form of envy.

Hooves clicked as she made her way as close to the Spire as she dared--as close as they'd trained last time. No closer--because as soon as they'd begun to feel the spark and pop of magic along their fur, everything had gone haywire.

When she gauged she was near enough, and not too near, she paused to peer up at the shimmering aqua stone. She had a tiny piece at home--a similar piece, from near the Spire's base. It had been unconnected but even so, it could bite a little when touched; a static sting.

She never wanted to risk touching the real damn thing.

Right, so how do I do this? she thought, and looked around. She could start by practicing what she knew, she supposed--and then go on from there.

For starters, then, she drew in her magicka, trying to create a little latent shield. She doubted it'd help much if her own magic backfired--but it wouldn't hurt to prepare anyway. And it'd be good practice, either way.

Shield shimmered into place, albeit a little weakly. The hesitancy of her magic worried her, a little; it didn't bode well for her training. What next?

Maybe a simple bouncing, just to prepare? To warm up, a little? She tightened her jaws a little, now somewhat concerned about how this all might go. Pride had warned her not to do too much dangerous shit alone--well, those hadn't been his words--so she intended to be careful. Bouncing wasn't usually dangerous, at least.

She took a breath and pulled her magic to her, giving a tentative jump--and felt the coiled energy thrust down through her legs. The bounce wasn't a gently sailing hop, but nearly akin to flight: a soaring bound that left her emitting a startled yelp, flailing as she came careening down to the rock. But the bump of her legs sent her bouncing again, and Acheron realized that her magic had propelled her quite powerfully--and in this case, at least, would keep her safe.

She didn't realize how she probably looked: a dog-fawn now laughing as she made arc after arc over the rock. She was too concerned with the joy of (almost) flying.

Okay, so that had gone surprisingly well.

Pleased, Acheron at last came to a halt, tongue lolling a little; her tiny tail wagged. Awesome, she thought, and stretched in preparation for her next attempt.

But what to do next-? She supposed she could move on--try the slightly harder magics, like splitting herself in sort-of-two. But best to work with the simpler stuff first--right? What else is there? she thought, and then realized--she could make the air warmer.

It wasn't much, but again, in terms of practice, it would do. She concentrated, tilting her head.

Magic shimmered up, again chaotic--weak, this time, though at least it hadn't failed outright. Warmth bloomed around her. "Right," she breathed, and waited for it to fade.

She was almost uncomfortable in the heat she'd created, and was just about ready to go jump into Polaris's river or something when at last the spell faded, obviating any need for such extremes. I'd probably have drowned anyway, she thought wryly, remembering her utterly failed attempt to swim in the surf of Fornax.

It was obvious that she hadn't controlled the spell the way she should have--so she hoped the rest would go a little more smoothly. It really is chaotic, here, she mused--though it sort of was everywhere, really. Well-! On to the next magic.

This one was hard, and one she hadn't managed (or even attempted) more than once or twice. It involved creating a double, sending it off to wander around; she could even see through it. I'll practice it, she decided--but not hold it for long. It was too draining to really focus on, and if she did that, she'd not have any energy left for anything else.

She focused, gathering magicka to her--then huffed as it dispersed, fading with nothing happening. "Shit," she muttered. (This was a word she'd heard once, and it was apparently a Bad Word, so Acheron used it very quietly.)

Acheron gave it a bold second attempt, scrunching up her puppy nose and squinting (unseeing, focused on her magic) at the Spire.

A moment later, a weak double split away; it shimmered, stepped out from her, but it was difficult to see through and phased in and out. It was weak, and after a moment (during which she regarded it doubtfully), Acheron let it go.

My antlers are growing, she realized abruptly, belatedly, remembering the other-her that'd just been standing before her. She blinked. My antlers are growing!
She wondered how big they'd get. They'd struck her, on Pride, as being both cool and ungainly; they looked neat, but like the sort of thing that might get her tangled in unexpected, inconvenient places. Branches, maybe. She didn't know how he made his way through Eridanus, for example, without getting stuck every few steps. Would hers be like that? Or would they be a few sleek tines?

Eh. Not why I'm here, she decided, and rolled her shoulders.

She'd give the double another, stronger attempt, and then try something new.

She took another breath, steeled herself, and truly focused. "Come on, Acheron," she murmured, then snorted as she realized that she'd rhymed.

Focus, silly.

This self-admonishment given, she went back to concentrating. A double, but better. She could do this.

She took a breath, and this time the double popped more brightly into existence: more stable, steady, and bright. Acheron stared at the antlers for a moment, scrutinizing: the nubs were a little longer! Then she realized she'd forgotten to breathe again. A sharp exhale, a big inhale, and she paced around the double.

Good, she decided, circling back to its front. It looked like her, almost indistinguishable from the real thing. Success!

She let it go, allowing it to fade before it really drained her.

This was proving to be good practice, though; very much worth it.

Acheron took her time and rested for a moment. She had a while yet to go.

She knew what she wanted to do; she just didn't know how to go about it. And she needed a breather, meanwhile: a little rest.

Pride had told her a story, once--well, he'd told her many. But the first had been a story about someone who offered everyone advice, until they found someone for whom advice did nothing, and they realized they could really help in other ways. More directly. Sometimes, more than words were needed.

Her magic--everything she'd learned so far--was, on the whole, defensive. Shields and barriers, a spell to thrust others away, one to escape quickly, another to keep her warm. But there was nothing offensive: nothing to really put a stop to an enemy who attacked with ill intent.

She'd kept secret from her father her desire to learn such things after asking only once. She didn't know what his past held but he'd gotten so uneasy that she'd let it alone, and determined to teach herself something.

She just... had to decide what.

Legs curled beneath her, and she lowered herself to the rock, considering--and resting, for a moment.

Acheron stood back up, after a time, and stretched again.

"Okay," she breathed, pale eyes narrowing. First, she needed a target.

Then she'd decide what to do with it.

The fawn-pup turned, moving further from the Spire. She was looking for a rock--something medium-sized--or maybe a plant. Not a living thing--she avoided killing stuff. But she didn't see anything useful near the Spire and anyway, if she were trying something new, she didn't want to be too close to its power. It might turn dangerous.

For a few moments she wandered, picking over the dirt and stone, looking for any sign of something she could use.

After awhile, she found what she was looking for--or rather, something that seemed suitable. It was just a rock, but about eight inches high, fairly round and brownish. She took up a position a few yards off, and studied it.

Now the question was--what to do with it?

She wanted something offensive, for sure. But what? Pride hadn't shown her much, on that front, so Acheron didn't know what she had to choose from.

"I just... wanna sort of destroy it," she murmured to herself, thinking aloud. Maybe if she just fired her magic at the thing, and gave it intent, it'd shape itself-? She hesitated; she wasn't sure if that was how to learn new magic, but... maybe she could try.

That couldn't hurt, could it-?

Shit, I hope not.

She took a breath, braced herself, and stared at the rock. Magic gathered, coiling in her chest, and she thought hard at her target. Get obliterated, she half-thought, half-prayed, and then released the surge.

There was a flicker--a hiss--and... nothing happened.

It fizzled out, and she straightened and sighed. She could try again, she supposed; practice made perfect, and all of that. But was it really something that would work at all? Could she make magic without a concrete idea in mind, without a strong concept of what she wanted?

Acheron buckled down and tried to define it a little more. Just... negate it, she thought. She braced again, staring at the rock, willing it to cease to be.

The fawn-pup had no idea how this would translate to a living body, of course. She didn't consider the violent implications; she just wanted the ability to fight back, should it be needed.

Magic swelled around her, and then--imploded. She wasn't sure what she'd done but the next thing she knew, the nearly foot-long rock had come careening across the ground, slamming into her chest with force. Only barely did she yank her face out of the way in time.

There was a tangled impression of pain and breathless confusion, of the rock and air spinning around her, and a confused impression of the Spire somewhere in her peripheral vision. Then she was lying on the ground, slowly coming to, pain throbbing sharply through her ribs.

The rock was rolling away, clattering, triumphant. Acheron blinked, rolling upright with a pathetic whimper. She looked around. She had... somehow yanked it directly into herself--and thrown herself, too?--at high speed and with strong force. At least, she thought that was what had happened.

She tested her feet, and found sharp pain in her sides. Each step was a click with an accompanying wince.

What the shit did I just do? she thought.

She didn't know the words, or the anatomy, for "broken ribs."