Her porcelain figure is not immune to my attack, but she's not as fragile as she might appear. Pretty Miss Elsa. She is faster than I am, but my strength should not be underestimated. My head connects with her hindquarters, sure to leave a bruise. I wonder if it will be an insta-bruise, or if it will develop over time. Either way, she will likely be sore there for awhile. The pretty one groans as she moves away from me, and I smile grimly. Score one for Rostislav! But I would be foolish to think that the fight ends after one hit. It's a back and forth between us. A strategy game that, if we had a choice, we would play step by step, in slow motion. Instead, the moments fly by faster than we realize. Isn't that how it always goes, time flying?

I skid to a halt as she moves away from me, and despite her fresh bruise she turns tightly and approaches me. My right side is open to her - without a doubt, I feel my vulnerability. She gains speed quickly on the frozen ground, faster than I was able. She slams into my shoulder and knocks me sideways away from her. Her ivory teeth - almost as bright white as her hide - snap wildly at my withers. Wild or not, she makes contact. The bones that are made for grass grab my skin, not caring that I am flesh, not herb. I squeal and hop in the air, wincing as she tears at the me, tearing my skin from my muscle and letting blood flow down my hide, darkening the chestnut and brown hairs there. It will be raw and aching for who knows how long. It burns as only a raw wound can burn. I wiggle my shoulders in an attempt to shake her loose, my leonine tail swinging around, flailing in her direction. My ears are pinned tightly against my skull. Ouch, ouch, get the fuck off you witch! Shoulders back and forth as I struggle to shake her grip. I turn my head to grab at her neck, my own stained teeth - not nearly as pretty as hers - snapping at her neck. They seek the side of it, the top of it, to tear skin and spill blood, or to rip out some of the pretty white and blue hairs that decorate it. We can't all be perfect all the time, Miss Elsa, and I'm here to make sure of that.

Snowflakes begin to fall around us. Really? More snow? I hope that the visibility stays decent, or this could get ugly - or uglier - pretty damn fast. Snow is not my element, and it is clearly hers. But that doesn't mean I have to lose. If I can successfully shake her off, I'll move my hindquarters away, and let go of her neck (provided that I've grabbed it) after a few good shakes. I admit that I admire the girl's spirit and fight, and I know that my body will heal. Sure, I'll have another scar over my withers - but I have so many now, it will just blend in with the rest, won't it? Another tale to tell - if I can remember which one it is. Damaris yips at me from where I've left her by the tree. I feel her worry fill me, and it starts to distract me from my goal. I try to send waves of reassurance back at her. I cannot let her worry get in the way of this spar. Though, it does remind me that I need to not get hurt too badly - I need to be able to take care of her, don't I?

Text text text.
"Words words words."

OOC: Leaving a bruise on Elsa, as based on her response. I provided a hypothetical response if he is able to shake Elsa loose and grab her neck. Disregard if it is a miss.
Also, I know insta-bruise isn't a word, but it is in-character for Rostislav.
WC: 618
Tag: @[Elsa]
Attack: [2/3]