The stretching is at least enough to keep things comfortable. As comfortable as it gets with a pair of growing, painful wings trying to escape one's back. Prompto might be rusty, but his instincts still serve him well for training, especially as Ravus sets the pace right where he knows the boy is capable of reaching, or someday surpassing. He falls into it like a familiar rhythm, the adrenaline of movement, dodging, blocking, and striking back flowing throughout his body and reminding him of how much he missed this. A chance to grow, and become more, better prepared to take on the strange world he finds himself in. For those he loves.

Evasive measures have, of course, always been the agile Prompto's best-honed skill outside of sharpshooting and swift, decisive close-quarters atttacks. It means the true act of defending blows needs a good bit of work, and it shows. It also means it sinks in well each time Prompto knows he missed covering himself, and sees him considering the kinds of wounds he would sustain.

He isn't expecting the big, blue tail to lash out and trip him. Prompto is knocked back into the grass, spitting a curse at the way pain blossoms through him from landing on his wings. He sits up, sides heaving as he focuses his attention on his opponent. Rushing blood pounds in his ears- and then, he hears Ravus giving as good advice as ever. "Never thought about using any of this..." Prompto says between panting breaths, "Guess I thought it all would be in the wa-"

The blond's veins run icy cold as his enhanced, more draconic senses pick up the telltale coppery tang of blood. He's on his feet in a matter of seconds, rushing to Ravus' side to check on his companion. "Wait, wait, I smell blood- are you, are you ok????"

Prompto follows the scent, circling around behind Ravus before wincing at the absolute sight of his back. "Holy crap, dude. That has to hurt! Like, bad! You're bleeding all over yourself!"