Lend me your hand and we'll conquer them all
_{But lend me your heart and I'll just let you fall}

Up close he can gaze at the brutish appearance of the stallion, green eyes sweeping over the muscular body. He was a bulky stallion, built for war as his body was heavily lined with muscle. Locket envisions his fight with Solace once again, the bulky stallion was slower, less agile unlike Locket, who had both of those skills on his side. However, blows from the hooves were something Locket didn't want to take, because this stallion looked dangerous with those, just as Solace was. Larger stallions always have harder blows, while Locket was that poor nerd trying to fight the bullies to get back his lunch money. His blows were weak, but the cloven hooves gave him a small advantage. He knew how horrible it was to come in contact with cloven hooves, they were sharp, pointed, dangerous. His eyes rise to the antlers on the man's head, pale lobes flat against his skull. This stallion would prove trouble with those, he could easily entangle his legs or his own horn in the rack, proving trouble for them both.

As the rusty warrior charges, the bay readies for him. He lowers his rack, preparing to catch his blows. It seems like he runs miles before he actually reaches the stallion, sweat already forming at his neck. Wasting energy! He scolds himself, wondering if Lakota would scold him as well. For a precious second, just before he and the stallion go into close quarter combat, he lets his attention waver. He searches for Lakota among the landscape, hoping to see the familiar roan figure somewhere among the green. To his dismay, she is not found. A frown befalls his features, just as he makes contact with the brute. Immediately he's being attacked, body against body in an all out war. He's slammed from the left, body teetering to the right, pain shooting through his shoulder as several spikes drive into his skin. Only one or two made deep wounds, the rest were mere scratches. Locket lets out a huff, nostrils flaring as his body screams in pain. The stallion has taken damage himself, however, Locket's curved sword tipped in red. Blood for blood, my good sir. If he had a hat to tip, he would tip it here and now, snickering at his own comment.

Locket made a mistake, and he realizes just a little too late. He can already see the dark, tense muscles of the stallion's hind as he passes by, eyes widening. He failed to bite the quarters of his opponent, and this time there would be no bruise for bruise, this time it was a simple sock-in-the-face. Locket panics as dark hooves fly, trying to move his face from being hit. Instead he takes a dangerous blow to his neck, gasping as he's deprived of air for a moment. Staggering, the stallion tries to breath deeply, trying to regain himself while avoiding the dangerous daggers of the brutish warrior. Now he's become a play toy to this stallion, being tossed about like a rag doll. The stallion hits his shoulder to his rib cage, spiked collar once again piercing his skin. A silent cry of pain escapes his maw as he bends his neck, trying to reach over the rack of antlers to the stallions' neck or shoulder, ivory teeth bared and ready to make contact with skin. He catches the sight of blood from his shoulder, angered by the fact he was letting this stallion throw him around. Fed up, Locket lets out a bellowing cry, a cry of battle, and thrusts himself at the stallion in a flurry of forehooves, wishing to strike the stallion's left shoulder, the same place he had just tried to bite. You will pay! He sees the antlers, and finds that he should purposefully get his horn intertwined with his, and that will be when the fight will rise to its most exciting, its prime time. Even closer. He pushes forward once all four hooves are on the ground, thrusting his horn towards the antlers, hoping that the curvature of his sword will get stuck in the tines of this stallions' antlers.

"talk talk talk"
[WC: 708
Attack: 2/3
[@Gaucho]]