Rostislav

Don't tread on me. Isn't that how the saying goes? Well I'm applying it to the short of stature equine sort. Don't tread on me, my body. But don't you think that you can walk all over me and tell me what to do. There are a limited number of souls out there that I will listen to. But not one of them can truly boss me around. That includes you pretty lady. I do not care what you think of yourself; I do not care what games you want to play. Just because you are the pretty one in the winter sun does not mean you get to call the shots. If that is what you thought, you were sorely mistaken.

But clearly I was mistaken, too. I miscalculated in my attack, and missed Elsa's delicate head by a few inches. Well that's disappointing. It would have been nice to have given her a good bitchslap. But no, it doesn't seem I'm destined to make Elsa my bitch. I grunt, and take a step back to steady my body, tossing my head up into the air. But as I step back and my front hooves tuck toward my body, I feel them scrape under my girth area in some freak movement. 'Ah fuck!' Not only have I missed her but I've hurt myself, too? That's just fucked up. Blood drips slowly from the scratch that I've left there. It's not too deep, but it sure burns.

Her attack mirrors mine: her sparkled hooves come straight for me. Don't tread on me. Just because you think I am short and fat - and I sort of am - does not mean that you can tower over me and dominate me. I am not so short that her hooves hit my head, and lifting my crown has helped that, but instead her hooves hit against my chest. I grunt as the oxygen forcefully leaves my lungs. Oh fuck that hurts. I blink in pain as my breast bone bruises, and I teeter backward, legs flailing as I try to balance myself. It doesn't work, and I fall backward and to the side, landing on my left flank and side. I clamber to my feet, heaving for the air that she has denied me. I take a few steps back then. My eyes are wild, but you can't tell. The pain in my chest, my withers, my ear! I hope that everything is still attached to my body and that there aren't too many chunks missing.

Damaris whines for me, then growls at Elsa for causing me pain. I can't steady her - my mind is not steady enough to even attempt communication, and it is full of pain and extreme annoyance. I let out an angered cry at the mare that has proven herself a worthier opponent than I anticipated. But it is over now, and we may both part ways to heal and recuperate. Groaning through my teeth, I speak to my herdmate. "Well fought, Winter Princess."

Walk. Talk.

OOC: Rosti has a critical miss, so he scraped himself with his own hooves. Elsa missed his head - Rosti is not /that/ much shorter than her - but hit his chest instead and knocked him off balance. His chest is bruised and he's in pain.
WC: 504
Defense Post. Ready for judging.

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