We had walked side by side in a gale once before; though our needs had been very different. Nay, our souls had been different. She, a virgin, pure in her handlings of this serial world; and I, a soldier. My spirit during those final days of service had been weighted, aye weighted—but compared to the chains of leadership, those links had been nothing but rain sleeking from my body. This meeting was different, when our noses grazed each other I feel a fever of elation building behind those calculating orbs, “what are ye thinking?” I wanted to ask aloud. Aurous pools mused over her facade. My curiosity was sullen only for a moment before she responded, all the while bouncing away like a delighted child.

“I will go easy on you Sultan!”

Easy? A familiar warrior emerged through the strain of lines that had become my face. Ebony corners curve into an almost daring smirk, one ear drifts back and my befuddled expression falls aside. A chuckle swells within my breast, “Let’s see your skills then,” vocals bellow, rising above the storm as waves crash behind and shower our pelts with kisses from the sea. I had an unfair advantage, one of many that my friend here would have to adapt to. Wings. The ivory feathers stretch from their sheath beside my barrel in a wide arch, hungry for wind to fill their boundless sails.

She paces off a few steps, unrelenting goldrods follow the strain of her hips—watching as those muscles flex with each sunken step. It would seem we both are preparing for the moment when her splotched feet might swing into action. My tail, now wet and heavy from walking beside the water, swings aside and splashes my right flank.

The sliver girl draws near, mist swirls ahead of our nostrils—thunder claps overhead in a jolly chorus for us to begin. She came right and I danced my small but stocky frame to the left. Campolina bowed head shifts to angle away from the swell of her larger barrel; while my wings slither close in one swift motion. Steel grey thighs flex and as she prepares to rise up my lips slither apart with the agility of a serpent.

The spot that she deemed to strike is no longer there, I hear and feel a shuffling of sand but the there is no pain, nor the heat of her breath against my body. A missed attempt most likely; there is little time for either of us dwell. Swiftly my neck strides forward, striking out try for a quick but stinging blow across her right cannon or pastern. Patched limbs all the while are pressing ahead, pushing to get some distance between us. While the head is busy, hindquarters flex, and right hock rises in an awkward but practiced strike to hit at Africa’s head, neck or forelegs should they still be in closes vicinity.

OCC: He wears his armor as a collar, he won't be using it for this spar ^^;
Words: 490
Attack: (1,3)
Defense: (0,1)
No magic
No companion