Rostislav

I squeal in anger as her grip remains tight on my neck, bruising everything below the surface. She lets go of her own volition before I can knock her loose, coughing up the hair that has been pulled free from my flesh. It sears like an open abrasion where she's pulled them out, and I sense that my neck will be very tender where her teeth bruised them as well. I can't let it distract me, I just can't - not yet. I wish that I'd thought to somehow sharpen my teeth for greater sharpness. A snarl follows my squeal as I lunge for her. I don't manage to grab her throat (a pity, that), but my jaws have collided with her mandible. I haven't pulled any flesh from her this time, but blood that has run down her face comes away with me anyway. Scratches against her jaw and perhaps bruises, but nothing as serious as my previous attacks.

Her garbled laugh takes me by surprise. Is she.. laughing at me? Certainly she is, it seems. She doesn't seem impressed by my tail thwacking at her side, and though her amusement is plain, she backs away from me all the same. I gasp for fresh air, struggling to get my body working in one piece. Though I would have guessed she may be struggling nearly as much, she has more left to her than I would have guessed. She raises up, spreading her wings and cupping them so that the air collects in them, lifting her with ease. In this moment, I wish that I, too, had wings.

I'm as susceptible to her attack as I was moments before. Her forelegs are stretched out, poised to reach down and knock me, to hurt my back. I step to the side one more time, and I wonder if I haven't just saved my spine. Her hooves collide with the side of my back, just off to the side of my spine on the right. It's powerful, and the edges cut into my flesh, leaving bloody and muddy half-circles. I try to balance myself, to resist collapsing, but there's nothing I can do, and I fall to the ground, mud swallowing up my form inch by inch. Lucky for me it's no deeper or I might be breathing it. Instead, I'm merely stuck, struggling like a weary zebra in a crocodile's jaw.

Slowly, very slowly, I struggle to my feet, mud clinging to my side and slowly slopping off to the side and to the ground. My white eyes watch the Sky Lady carefully as she hovers in the sky near me. Neither of us have come out of this unscathed, perhaps psychologically wounded as well as physically. I growl at her winged form, then chuckle sardonically. "Now will you tell me your name?"


Walk. Talk.

WC: 472
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