The exertion has loosed some of her red hair from its tight pony-tail, frizzed by sweat into a fuzzy corona about her face. Sunshine pants hard, heartbeat quick but steady, her teeth showing slightly between her lips. Though the corners of her mouth turn up slightly in response to his grin, there is no joy in her eyes. Satisfaction, maybe.

...Yes, satisfaction. There is no denying it. No point.

But she takes no joy in it. Her joy is not to be found on any battlefield. Her joy is in flour and spices and good things of the earth, but blood and grime and sweat are the price. This is necessity.

The moment her heart-rate begins to slow down, Sunshine goes for him again, her magic striking at his arms with force and fire, at his legs with the earth beneath his feet. Seeking to draw him out, unbalance him. Trying to make him overreach, overextend, to strike and miss and let her in.

Sunshine is careful, but not shy. She goes in without hesitation, but is quick to dart away again if necessity dictates, keeping her feet under her. Her shield, flickering there-and-then-not-there as needed with a thought, doesn't falter, deflecting strikes whose strength could cripple her if she didn't catch them. The sunlight-web in her skin glimmers and shifts like iridescent oil on water, awake, aware, calling the sun from beyond the horizon.