It did not take long for her to see the practised manner in which he moved and held himself, the toned muscles that lined his body - they lined her brothers in the same way. For a moment, she wondered at the life this warrior had. What had brought him to her borders? Loaylty to the Grey, and their cause? Or was it just a sick yearning for blood? Just as she feared, his horn swung around, and threatened to expose her insides to the outside world. Teeth collected a mouthful of cropped mane, and swiftly her tongue worked to rid her mouth of the hairs. Forelegs touched upon the earth without touching against the steed, her hope of bruising him, winding him, hurting him, stopping him dashed as he danced around her, flailing that horn of his at her side. Upon her right shoulder it did hit, even as she pulled sideways, taking steps to her left. It was a scratch, a vertical line following the groove of the scapula to her neck, only a few inches long. It did sting, and her muscles tensed up around it, making it radiate up and down her entire forequarter. As Donovan's side then came rolling towards her, she was already a step to the side, and so as she took another, his shove becoming more of a brush against her bloodied shoulder.

It brought him closer to her, and while she did not possess the teeth of a dragon - yet - she instinctively pulled her lips back to take a bite of the flesh he proffered to her. It was his right side again, though she did not stand upon her hindlegs to gain the advantage of height this time, such was the rush of the situation. The flesh nearest to her maw was his right flank, and so she reached for it, hoping to grasp the folds of skin that curve between his stifle and barrel, and rip them open. The mare was not one to yearn for blood, she was not a monster - not when she possessed her equine form, anyway. Akaith hissed from her aerial perspective, feeling the pain her bonded felt even as Mirage strained against the sting of her shoulder and the need to stay close to this steed. Close enough to strike him, yet far away enough to miss his counter strikes. Muscles rippled along her back, but it was not just for the movement of her body that they rippled. Her raven pelt shimmered in the moonlight, hinting at the magic that was held within, the alternate form that was itching to surface. She restrained it, but it would surface soon.

As her teeth reached out for flesh, the little shadow mare was intimately aware of the nearness her rump could be to his horn, and so she swung her hindquarters away, to the left a few steps. With her bodice angle adjusted, the mare then launched herself forward, forelegs raised so that the hardened hooves of her forelegs might come crashing down upon the fetlock joint of Donovan's right hind leg. The mare threw her weight into the strike, hoping to crush the joint, to hinder this steed from entering her home. The cut upon her shoulder burned, the pain immense despite it being a relatively insignificant injury. It might have caused her right hoof to go off target slightly, it might have weakened the entire attack to be completely insignificant. It would be a lie to say the mare wasn't intimidated by this foe, for though she was adept at surviving this world, defeating foes of all sizes and species, he seemed unflappable. The mare would do her best to disable him - she would procrastinate her dragon form for as long as possible, for once it was summoned, she feared it wold end the life of this warrior, who was only following orders, as her kin were doing in defending her home. She did not want death, but she would not shy away from it if it meant victory for her home.


[ 683 words.
2/4 attack posts.
0/2 magic/companion uses.]