Déodat paid no mind to the fleeing griffin, he had no interest in harming a babe. Not even in the midst of his blood crazed mind would he consider slaying a child. Over and over Odette’s pained yelps ran through his mind, the agony she must be enduring. He would ensure the Bloodskald would pay for his bonded’s crimes, regardless of the damage the white pup had inflicted upon the other companion. A damaged wing would heal, a blinded eye would be an eternal injury. Of course, the pup was still young and could adapt to vision through one eye, but he knew such scars changed an individual. Today Odette’s innocence had died, and all he could hope was that the white pup didn’t perish with it.

As he came toward his foe Déodat could see the grim expression up on his face, but his focus diverted to other things as his body rose into the air. Beneath one hoof struck a tip of horn, the other the stallion’s neck. Not precisely a satisfying blow, but he had no time to dwell on that face. Moments later Torleik flung himself toward him and as the Blood Prince was lowering himself to the ground, he felt horns dig into his flesh. They dug into an area slightly below his girth. All he could feel was pain fill his frame, pain that surpassed his hurting shoulder and ass, and the wound below his eye. It came down on him like a landslide, he was dying. It hadn’t even registered in his ears that an agonized scream passed from his lips. Without another thought he flung himself off of Torleik’s horns and down onto the ground.

What sweet irony it was as blood ran from the two holes in his flesh, in that moment he truly was the Blood Prince. If he was to die, then he would drag Torleik down into hell’s fire with him. Déodat came at his foe, swinging his horn left to right, aiming to simply destroy his neck. It was the evident recklessness of a man that believed himself condemned.

Life was slipping away swiftly as the blood poured out from his wound and he knew he would have to find a healer, and fast. Hopefully Odette had managed to find Lena to tend to her, and he would call for the time mender with his last breath if he had to. Déodat knew death was failure, but he could die satisfied that it was where he truly belonged, on a field of battle.

After swinging his horn this way and that, the Blood Prince drove it forward, trying to dig it deep into Torleik’s neck. The expression on his face and light in his eyes had lost the blood crazed rage, in it’s place was an emptiness so deep that it’s depths couldn’t be found. Mirabella danced in the back of his mind, the little filly he may never see grown.

May she not resent me like I resent my own father, He thought as he came in for his final stab with his horn. May you not roll in the grave with disappointment Father, because I fucked up again. Give me the strength to finish this and slay him.

[4/4
Words: 544
Summary: Déodat comes at Torleik swinging his horn around hoping to tear at his flesh. He then tries to stab it forward at his neck.

Good fight Red!]

"talk talk talk"