.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
09-16-2012, 12:34 AM
All at once, Birch feels the tension between himself and the warrior behind him escalate to dangerous levels. He hears himself being called a whelp and hold in a chuckle. He is older, certainly wiser, than this stallion, and yet the stranger still acts as if he has the right to disrespect him? It is ridiculous, the entire situation is. But just as Birch had incited the equine's anger, he felt his own face growing hot with elicited rage. It is he who need not be treated with disrespect, he who deserves to be looked up to. Just as the younger stallion had taken in his appearance, Birch does the same of him. The equine is taller, but they are evenly matched in build, and Birch is older. He has spent more years fighting than this arrogant fool before him, surely it will act in his advantage. It is only the unfamiliar forest and the young dog that put him at ill ease- Birch is in new territory and facing an unfamiliar creature. He blocks the mental handicap and focuses on what he does know, what the other stallion likely does not. For instance, that Birch is endowed with a wonderful sense of balance. He looks awkward to the equine, with the massive tree sprouting from his shoulders; it is common sense to assume maneuvering with the growth would be difficult. But it is not simply a growth to Birch, it is his life. For six years he has lived in his own body, knowing nothing else, learning from the forests around him and teaching himself to live, to be strong. The earth has granted him the gift of confidence and unshakeable strength. Just as the roots of a tree stood firm, Birch does the same in the face of the unfamiliar warrior. The show of circling does nothing to phase him, the kicks and starts are nothing but mere distractions from one's true ability. He looks past such foolishness and into the heart of Archibald's movements- watches with red stained eyes the twitched of the carpals and triceps beneath the thick black hide. But no amount of watching could have prepared him for the earthquake. The magic is unexpected and Birch finds himself quickly arching his neck and pressing his hind legs into the earth. He shifts his balance in an instant to its place behind the roots of the birch and tenses his deltoids to lift the shoulder and, in turn the forearm, further up and off of the ground. Still, while his balance improves, he is shaken by the movement of the earth, and feels tricked. Surely this cannot be considered fair play- an unexpected attack to begin with, but then one with magic? The earth continues to shake and Birch begins to move his hind hooves quickly and firmly just to stay upright. "Bastard," Birch mutters angrily at the stranger. He shifts further back and lifts himself to avoid the first true physical attack completely and skillfully, but once the kicks have carried themselves and met only air, Birch lands immediately. He breathes deeply and growls all at once- the shaking of the earth is a new sensation, and it leaves him disoriented, even if he had managed to evade the stallion's first kicks. He mutters to himself, not words of encouragement, but insults to the enemy. Birch knows he will not fall on this day- while he accepts the concept of death at any moment, he understands that the moment must be right. He knows this is not the right moment- it is too arbitrary, too loosely defined. Fate would have no part to play in this chance encounter... would she? No, surely it is not his time to die. With a faintly growing sense of determination he pushes himself forward, more slowly than he would have were the earth still, and lowers his poll. The roots beneath the flesh of his forearm ripple like tensing muscles, and the striping around his legs seems to ooze in the trick of the shadows. With eyes filled with a strong sense of pride he closes the gap between the pair and strikes out with the firm trunk of the birch that sprouts from his flesh. It falls at the level of the stallion's left flank, but as Birch moves to the right with neck coiled and an open mouth ready to bite, the tree draws dangerously closer. There is an instant where Birch wonders if this truly is the right thing to do. Is there no better way to spend these final days? And then he snaps his white teeth down tightly near the thin flesh covering the stallion's knee, and swiftly thrusts to his right to try and sweep the stranger with his arbor. [[WC: 799 || PC: 1/3 || AS: The earthquake succeeds in messing with Birch's balance, but he does his best to remedy the situation by lifting himself into a low rear. At the sight of Archibald's legs coming towards him he pushes into the earth with his hind legs and raises the height of the rear so that Archibald swipes the empty air beneath him. The attack misses and Birch falls to the ground. Birch then runs towards archibald's left flank. He lowers his body and then shifts quickly to the right, hoping to strike archibald with his tree while attempting to bite at his knee.]] |
