Rostislav

Making the first move was clearly a poor notion, though I give myself credit for having the nerve. Did I overestimate my ability to so easily score against my King? I suppose I did, though perhaps my confidence was inflated from my idea to stir up dust as a cover for my attack. By stirring up dust, I've managed to hurt my own ability to see my opponent's location, and instead of a full-on hit, I've obtained nothing but a full-on miss. Embarrassment rises up inside me as my horns pierce thin air and my lobes catch the sound of hooves pounding to my left. The embarrassment is compounded by the emotion reflected in my companion who saw the whole thing. If only she could have somehow warned me! My flesh grows hotter as annoyance at myself and at Midas for his battle prowess builds.

The heat that I feel now is something entirely different. It comes neither from the emotions broiling inside me, nor the sun's garish rays overhead. It's the heat of a new wound. Midas is not foolish enough to simply dodge me. Before I can recover myself, he has returned to my side with teeth bared and ready for whatever part of me they can take. Somewhere inside, a distant part of me sighs. Am I really so easy to carve up like a Thanksgiving turkey? My sloppiness in this moment has led to a strong pair of jaws clamped around my neckline, just missing where I've been previously wounded in battle. It's a small relief, but not enough to make up for the pain that emanates from my muscles, bunched and pinched under Midas's ivories. A groan slips past my velvets. But my punishment is not over: He raises up in a half-rear, forelegs rising in an attempt to give me a good smack to the face. My head is down just enough that his knees and cannon bones knock against my skull, but I'm pulling my head to the side, away from him. In this way I've managed to avoid too much damage to my skull, but I expect a nice bruise will line my cheek bone.

But of course, with Midas in a half-rear and my head lowered, this puts me in the perfect position to once again attempt to attack him with my horns. I want to say that surely I cannot miss, but at this point one never knows. I turn my crown and angle it toward his chest, attempting to stab him with whatever pointy thing on my body might possibly make contact. I hope that perhaps he will not manage to get away from me before I can scrape off some of that painted flesh and show the tissue and blood beneath. Who knows if I can be successful? Dust is rising up around us, stirred from our scrambling hooves. We are just two wild beasts fighting under the heat of the summer sun. Were it not for the shade of the beast I'm attacking, his shadow like an umbrella over my face, I might be blinded. I am certain that when next my face be exposed, the sun might become a real problem for me. For now I can only hope that perhaps I can get a little bit of revenge on the kingly beast for beating me up as he has. A snarl passes my lips as I thrust upward with determination. I will not roll over and let you have me so easily!

Walk. Talk.

WC: 587
Attack [2,3]
Bruised neck and cheek, knocked sideways but without falling, thrusts head up to hit Midas's chest/shoulder with his horns.

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