Her constant crowing disgusts you. It's raining... it's bleeding. No amount of overly-dramatic eye rolling would be sufficient to display your annoyance at her whimsy. No number of sharp words would discourage her from acting foolish. Only your physical strength can teach her a lesson. A battle is no place for singing and chanting, for playing games and skipping rope. Battle is for bashing bodies against one another, sweating and toiling, breathing deep and still having your lungs burn for more oxygen. Battle is a lot of things. But it is not for singing.

Finally she seems to understand, her battle cry assaulting your ear drum similar to the way her hooves assaulted your flesh. In retrospect, just standing there was incredibly stupid on your part, but pride got the better of you. You couldn't help it. At least you know you have something to be proud of- your teeth assault her flesh and you feel fur brush against your tongue. You've done well, for the moment. As for the magic, it seems it has served its purpose well and you quickly thank the moon as Red pushes past you, panting for her efforts. It makes you happy, almost gleeful, to know that you can make her suffer even without a physical touch.

For a moment- one disastrously distracting moment- you let your mind wander to the possibility of using the magic on yourself, of feeling that shortness of breath and weakness of muscle, gasping for breath like it's your very life. You imagine the magic in combination with your precious locoweed, one ravaging your mind while the other ravages your body. The idea is tantalizing, welcoming, opening its arms to you, and you instinctively reach your head to the left, to dip into your bag and pull out a vine. The motion is both stupid and lucky. A flash of Eris running up behind you brings you back to reality, reminding you with a violent tug that you are in a battle not a daydream and that you must keep your wits about you.

Your hind limbs try to dig into the ground, to propel you forward and away from her unwelcome advance, but the combination of metal shoes on slippery snow hinders you. You slip. It isn't much, but it's enough. Enough to slow you so that Eris can catch you, sink her teeth into your left hock, make you scream in pain. The bite does not break skin but it pulls on tendons and the sensitive nerves that run with them. Your leg starts vibrating and tingling, feeling plucked like an overused banjo string, then betrays you and becomes somewhat useless in the moment.

Eris' hooves come down nearly in concert with her bite, but you are already in motion with your right hoof, your left one still refusing to respond. She scrapes a third one of your legs, more blood pooling on the surface and dripping down as you fight the desire to run from the pain, to crawl into a hole and eat locoweed until you are numb. But no, you will not give her the satisfaction. So what does one do when attacked from behind? Kick, of course, and you have not failed to notice that the Red General has left her face very exposed. You kick out and up with your right hind. Hard. You hope and pray that you hit her face, that your metal shoe smashes into that beautiful mandible, that you leave her screaming with a multitude of pain that she's never even imagined before.

But one kick is not enough, one attack too miniscule to sate your desire for revenge for her crimes. You return your hoof to the earth and push, careful to pivot on your right hind. Your left hind follows when you ask it, but that seems to be all it is interested in doing at this moment, its tendons still aghast and on strike that they should have been bitten and mauled. But thoughts are stronger than tendons and you will yourself around, all the while lowering your head as you turn, hopefully ending in a position where you face the foul beast that is Eris. Without checking for aim, without gauging your position, you throw your head up, hoping to rake the sharpened tips of your horns across her flesh. To attack without aim is foolish, a child's mistake, but your rage has overcome you and you can't help but to act without thinking.

All the while, your chest rises and falls with increased effort and your leg continues to tingle. You stew over the fact that it will be a rather annoying hindrance until the nerves return to normal function. Dumb bitch. You just hope her face has paid for her transgression.


Post: 2/4
WC: 799