Kri the Resolute
No flesh slams into my own to slow my speed, and the whir of air as it passes my body is one greeted with a fresh smile. I curve my wings to increase my drag, trying to stop my momentum from leaving me splashing side first into the water, the flickering grasp of my teeth catching onto Hector's nape with a jerk as I am moving away. My grey hooves collide with the choppy surface of the water, splashes careening about my barrel as I hold my feathered appendages high, out of the dangerous grasp of the waves. Water rendered wings useless faster than most anything in this world, save maybe fire. In my disarray of thought, scrambling to save myself from the sea without any braking from the body of Hector, I miss the incoming swipe of a tail until it is nearly too late.

I throw my head toward the right and down, tucking my chin close against my nape and shutting my left eye as the tail slaps me clear across the head. The small tendrils of hair, wet from the water below our hooves, are like small little knives that cut without spilling blood. Their claws leave clear lines I can feel behind with stinging clarity, but no obvious wounds. My neck quickly unfurls and my teeth chase after the retreating limb, but I fear it will likely be too late. My hooves below the water plunge onto unsteady sands, sinking against my will. Lurching forward I lift myself out of the shallow mouth of the ocean with effort, racing onto the beach and pushing down with my wings. The wind which followed behind me like a humble servant drives up from my rear, gathering underneath my chocolate feather and lifting me easily from the ground, sand dribbling behind me as I rise.

The ocean may have detained me, but Hector is a hundred years too early if he believes that his speed will outmatch me.

By the time Hector's massive form has turned in the air, I am far from our original position, ascending in the air far away as he dives down, he will likely only find the dust from my hooves and outstretched wings to greet him. I mimic his turning but not entirely, choosing instead to face the bastard head on. Was it really a good idea for me to fly after the face of a unicorn? Likely not, but I was never one to take the path of least resistance.

I soar onward, trying to fly head on with the brute, swooping down in altitude to bring my hooves level to where I anticipated Hector's head to be sitting easily upon his neck. I kick out with my legs gently as attempt to fly by his head, in case he should think the small brown limbs a target for the swords upon his crown. My wings fold tight against my barrel, to avoid being caught should Hector's own flare up on the sides in an attempt to stop me. My front end dips down if I should pass his head, aiming for to hit the top of his haunches with my front hooves, kicking back gently with my back hooves with little force, another safety measure against the stallion's horns. The fluid movement was like a buck in the air, maybe, with my front hooves planting downward, back hooves kicking out easily.


[ WC: 571; PC: 2/3; Magic: 0/2. ]