His mind feels empty, devoid of the familiar contact with his dragon. Even as he attacks, he sends mental prods in Cynder's direction, desperate to ascertain if she's okay - she is alive, which is a mercy, but he fears she has broken bones or worse, judging from the crumpled heap she lays in. He can feel the stacatto throb of her pain, but unlike his own wounds, he can block out the agony of hers with some concentration - what he can't forget, however, is the searing sting of his torn flank and chest, or the bruises on his rugged face where his massive skull crashed into Cynder's solid, scaled form. He contemplates pushing his pain onto her, transferring it to her unconscious body and allowing her to suffer his aches for him, but he could never do that.

He's a selfish bastard in all walks of life, but not when it comes to her.

His back hooves succeed in clipping only Arah's horn, and a hiss of disgust escapes him at his failure to shatter her skull like a broken promise. The scream from the rat as Cynder's fire burns her back, though, is a macabre stab of pleasure to the war king's greedy ears, a howling lullaby that sings of his dragon's flaming payback for what the mare's magic did to her. Blunt teeth manage to impact with her leg, and he hopes her action of pulling the limb away will increase the damage done to her. She moves, and he automatically darts forwards as he realises that his previous attack left his head open to retaliation from her; no matter how dainty her hooves are, he does not fancy getting them full force into his skull. But, at precisely the wrong moment, his injured right hindleg gives way, pain blazing through it. His entire frame lurches forwards, his traction on the ice - exposed beneath the snow by their scuffling hooves - compromised severely. He manages to get his hind hooves back beneath himself, but his momentum forces his forelegs to bend and he crashes to his knees, ripping the skin free from them as they rasp against the sharp stones hidden beneath the hard ice. Pain spasms through him, but like a newborn foal he manages to gather himself and unfold his forelegs, returning to all fours with blood pouring steadily down both of them, both his pride and his knees severely battered.

On the plus side to his most inelegant tumble, Arah's attack misses its mark - he almost wonders if a kick from her pinlike hooves would have been preferable to damn near faceplanting the floor in front of her. He turns and tries to get his bearings, not giving himself a moment of rest before he charges for her again, aiming to approach her left side in a T-shape once more. His hooves slalom across the exposed ice and his weakened right hindleg gives another shriek of protest, but he tells it in no uncertain terms to piss off because the battle is nearing its conclusion and he needs all his limbs in full working order, whether they like it or not. He directs his charge for her left flank rather than her left ribcage, this time, in the hope of preventing her from having time to turn and prong him again, and he makes sure he leads more with the right side of his chest to save the cut left side from further damage. He aims to slam his thick chest into the mongrel's left flank, hoping to knock her hindlegs out from under her whilst his jaws snap forth to try and pepper her not-so-fine ass with sharp bites. He doesn't want the taste of her on his tongue, but he knows his blunt, heavy teeth can inflict painful bruises that will linger and mark her as his bitch for the next few days at least.

Simultaneously his right foreleg lifts off the ground, reaching forwards and aiming to rasp the hoof painfully down the outside of Arah's back left leg, from just below her hock to her fetlock. A myriad of small ice crystals cling to his massive, feathered hoof, in addition to some sharp stones dislodged by their churning feet - he hopes that rasping these down the mare's leg will cause cuts and pain, and perhaps the force of his massive hoof will succeed in cleaving flesh from bone. It takes everything he has to keep going, with the knowledge that his dragon is still prone on the ground with no sign of regaining consciousness - suddenly his need to eliminate Arah stems not from his desire to keep her captive, to aid the Regime with her blood and fear and submission, but to gain some sort of vengeance in Cynder's name.

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OOC: A note to the judge about my response to Arah's attack - with the way they were positioned, left side to left side, it would be impossible for Arah to turn to her left and be able to attack Tyra's head with her back hooves. I cleared up with Frostie that Arah was actually meant to attack with her front legs, not her back ones. However, I didn't want to PP her by taking damage from her front hooves, nor did I want to have it be matrix-y and have him take damage from her back hooves since they couldn't physically reach him - which is why I had him take the required dice-roll damage via tripping, and was vague on Arah's actual attacks <3

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