It had stopped snowing, at least for now. The pale winter sun glared down on a dazzling white world, seeming displeased with its minimal effect on the intense cold. Temperatures lingered on well below freezing and made the breath of the two horses billow and fume where they stood, like statues of flesh and bone opposing one another on a meadow of ice.

"I'm sure" the masked stag said with a confident jerk of the head, a front hoof pawing the ground in excited agitation; a statement answering a question he found quite redundant. Hadn't it been his suggestion in the first place, that the acidic mare should test his mettle, gauge his strength for herself? It irked him to be taken lightly, to know that creatures he respected looked down on him due to a perceived flaw, an irreparable handicap.

Well. He didn't feel that way, and would love to prove this lady otherwise.

"Don't go easy on me, sis" he muttered under breath and meandered towards her, legs lifting high as he waded through the powdery snow. The head kept bobbing up and down, black diamond spears drawing circles in the air as he tested the distance between them. Blind as a bat, yet equally good at using additional senses to navigate; he listened for her breath, the faint sound of a heart pumping black blood through toxic veins, smelled the pungent scent of persistent wounds and acidic fluids dribbling from her maw.

Steadily guiding his charcoal ship close to her ebony quay he lulled in by her side with a look of utmost innocent, a comrade and brother simply yearning for the warmth of her presence. When nothing but inches remained between their chassis he reached out with that same lazy lull and parted dusky lips to bare fangs on her right flank, turning a comradely groom into a vicious, hard bite meant to latch on and hold. Simultaneously he swung the silver-laced backside to avoid her reach, long legs stepping high and fast to the left with a flick of the tail that could fill her vision and nose and mouth with nothing but black silk, soft and cold and snappy like a thousand minuscule needles.

Would she underestimate him? Would she think him too frightened to land the first hit, too daunted by her dangerous mouth to dare move in close? He would prove her wrong, he would show what he had, would reveal the cards hidden within sleeve of this dark wool coat. He would give his all in a dance with death, and he wished for nothing more than to have her join.

Dance with me. Don't you dare go easy on me.

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Post: 1/4 + closing def.
Words: 450

Judged spar, 4 posts + defense. Magic + Companions allowed.
Setting; Thistle Meadow, midday. Cold, clear weather, loose deep snow to about knee height.
800 words max.