I swear, I swear I'm not trying to kill him. I just want him to stop trying to kill me. If I thought that he might gain some sanity and stop, I would back off and give the man some breathing space. But he doesn't seem to be able to stop, and of course, defending myself (or attacking, as he sees it) is just proving his point. My teeth do less damage than I'd hope, only pinching his neck, as if I'm kindly giving him a scratch in a hard to reach spot. It's probably for the best though, that he's jumped away. When I pull away, though, I see that his own blood is decorating the once pale neck. When I retreat, I feel blood trickle from the spikes on my face down to the scar that crosses my nasal bone. It rides the ridges, coloring the hairs and the scar tissue, filling crevices. His head still in the air, I can better see that my spikes have torn at the underside of his skull. I wince as I back away from him, thinking to myself that it is an injury that must really hurt, and I don't envy him.

As I step back I find myself putting more weight on my left, uninjured side. I groan quietly, under my breath. This young pegasus keeps ramming my same shoulder, and it is taking a toll on my endurance and stability. Even if he has a little more to show for our fight, I think I may be more worse for the wear. He is younger and more agile than I am, with no beer belly to weigh him down. I have no doubt his stamina for another attack, and he doesn't surprise me as he comes at me again.

What does - sort of - surprise me is his scream as he moves toward me. 'KILLER!' I shake my head, low to the ground as I feel weariness sweep through me. I grunt at him, just loud enough for his ears to catch. "I'm not." But will he hear me when his ears are buzzing and mind racing with rage? I see red and white flash as he lunges at me, but I'm too slow to prepare myself. The stallion slams into me, and although he hits my better shoulder, I'm already unbalanced and I feel myself thrown off to the side. As my body moves to my right, I try to catch myself, but my right shoulder is too sore and my forelegs buckle I go down to my knees. I scramble to my feet again, cuts on my knees and now my left shoulder is likely to bruise as well. A grunt as I stagger a little, trying to get going again for my last attack.

My staggering has put me far enough from the boy that I think perhaps I can pull this off. I sure hope this isn't a stupid idea... I turn slightly and my hindquarters bunch, undamaged muscles tightening in my big ass to lift my back legs into the hair, hooves flying blindly at the pegasus. I hope that his rage somehow slows him or distracts him from my onslaught. If I'm lucky, my hooves may hit his shoulder or his barrel, maybe bruising some muscles or ribs - could I possibly knick a wing? Anything to get this nonsense to stop. As I lash out, I call louder now over my shoulder. "Stop this madness! I'm not what you think I am!" If only we can stop this, perhaps I can explain to him that I'm not a murderer, a killer, trying to own anyone. I've never killed anyone in my life, even being Russian! But he's not really giving me a chance, is he?

3/3
631 words
@[Gull]
Sorry again about the wait :) Rosti gets slammed and because he's off balance, he falls to his front knees. He gets up and staggers to the side away from Gull, then turns a little more to buck and try to kick Gull in the side.

Rostislav

more than a drunken fool