None other than our Legatus, Rostislav breaks through the brush and bramble. I glance up, folding my wings and settling into the golden dust. Corners twitch, the beginnings of a smirk form across my muzzle toward the wayward stallion whose short stature still out measured me. His little companion, having grown larger since I’d last laid eyes upon her, is siting by and by—shredding some poor forest creature. I glanced her way and offered the little whelp a nod before returning my gaze to Rostislav as he draws closer and speaks.

Crown dips, mimicking his respect with equal measure. “Aye! Tis an honor to test ye at long last!” I couldn’t always stand by and watch my warriors spar with their kin; I’d been raised in the tides of battle and thus made it a point to at least make myself available for their practice. “Good for both,” cranium nods in outward agreement, touching chin to the gem below my breast.

Formal regard is nearly complete, when we look up at each other it appears to be with the same calculated measure. He was gazing upon my frame, likely judging the obvious strengths and searching for a quick weakness that could be flushed free. The smirk upon my maw didn’t fade, it grew, “Measure carefully, Legatus.” I thought wistfully; it had been awhile since anyone dared step forward to vanquish my power, I welcomed the attempt and practice.

Knowingly I lean right, shifting my weight purposely and tightening the grip of feathers against barrel to shield them from damage. Rostislav turns and begins to circle, the smile fades from my face, and our games begin. Flesh angled toward the opposite side, I push in the other direction, mirroring a circle. Ears are high and standing like stern soldiers at the ready, my fleshy throat is arched, and normally passive gaze is sharp, watchful.

It is Rostislav who makes the first move, he comes flying at me. A wake of dust springs from behind, but it is dust that is easily avoided given my position. However, something had to be done with the weighted beast coming headlong. His silver locks fly around the evil looking spears that sprout from his brow. Wings resist their urge to take toward heaven, instead I suddenly dip sideways toward his left, using smaller size and years of maneuverability to avoid any attempt at stabbing and gashing my flesh.

Teeth slide free from their fleshy fold and snap out like a coiled snake toward the juncture of meat around the top of his neck, where hair meets fur. They seek to claim mark upon the pretty tendrils that are flying in wild directions. Hindquarters flex and carry this heavy bundle into a slightly twisted halfrear while face is snapping, my forelimbs flail out; golden daggers moving to strike with clear purpose toward knocking his skull on the opposite side of the battlefield.

OCC:

Attack (1/3)
Word count: 487