The thunk and crunch of metal piercing wood is surprising, empowering, the feel of his own muscles - these meager fibers - rending bark and pulp from the trunk of the tree in visceral fashion bolstering a sense of pride in himself, something so rarely seen in the old and decrepit. He jogs to a halt, forgetting the grinding and popping of his joints in this small moment of elation, and turns to see his own astonishment and - yes - joy, mirrored on the young Generals face while something like congratulations blooms from the second consciousness at the back of his mind.

The so often surly ears flick forward, abandoning their sour tilt to scoop the others almost-praise from the air between them, thinking the exercise completed to satisfaction. It’s with apprehension then that he watches the trees reform, reshape into bulkier, sturdier renditions of themselves, his own body reverting to its closed off angles. His newfound confidence wavers, submitting to the growl of uncertainty that reminds him, on no uncertain terms, that he is not and has never been a warrior. The few battles he’s taken part in have mostly been ceremonial, strictly controlled, and more recently, terrifying and entirely defensive.

He watches the mare launch forward a second time, seeking direction from her bold movements, and though this attack is more forthright than the last, he still thinks both her and the young buckskin are too haphazard with their own bodies, too careless of recoil and opposing forces, but, he thinks, watching her land and turn with an expectant, feral gaze, who is he to change the nature of the beast? Better to use that vehemence for a greater good, like saving himself from undue wear and tear. ”Ye.” The python agrees, still swaddled in wool.

So the old stallion sets his mind on the mare, inhaling deeply and gathering the magic of his willpower around himself until it tightens, condenses in the air, almost a palpable pressure now, and thrusts it towards her, hoping its effect will be enough to bend her to his bidding. “This one is more a test of your skill, I think.” He calls to her, gesturing loosely toward the tree now healed from his recent bite, waving with his tail instead of his nose or shoulder in an attempt to maintain eye contact, unsure of whether or not that makes a difference to his chances. He smiles, teeth still armed and glinting. “Won’t you show us?”



"Talk."
OOC // @Beloved @Erebos Attempts to use [ Magic: LightxSpark | Ability to stimulate pleasure centers of brain inducing attraction/affection. ] on Beloved.