Phobos was good at taking directions when he actually felt like following them. But it was a rarity for Phobos not to follow his father's orders. Especially when it came to the battlefield and all the joys it had to offer. If his father directed him towards a location, he took it, because his father (although Phobos hated to admit it) had so much more knowledge of where the excitement was and more experience than Phobos ever previously had gained.
He didn't allow his father's horses to grow too excited nor kill too many men but allowed him to circle the cluster of men. "They're so proud," Phobos yelled. This group of strong men, fighting amongst each other and not allowing the other to get any advancement. What Phobos wanted was to see blood, to smell death, and to feel the twinge of panic that was always so arousing. "This fighting back and forth will go on until all of them die from exhaustion! I want them to die by the blade!"
Phobos reached for his own sword. He wasn't as skilled with the blade as his father but he did know how to wield it properly. The sword sunk into the back of one strong man, forcing him forward into the crowd with a scream, and Phobos pulled back with a laugh. The men didn't know who had killed the one warrior but it caused a frenzy, and as was suspected, the scent of panic grew in the air. Phobos' eyes rolled to the heavens as he took the scent in. "Wonderful."