Arvakl

Legs flying, blood boiling, I can only hope that my flints will catch his pretty flesh. I don't even really know what I want from this scuffle - to wound him, to be wounded myself, to get laid when it is all over? My desires obscured even to me. My feminine scent filling the air, mixing with his masculine musk. Entwining in the air, the new scent is heady and seems to dilute my ability to think straight. I wonder somewhere in my mind if he feels the same way. Clearly, though, neither of us have forgotten the purpose of why we are here, our natural given weapons bared and armed. All of my senses are focused exclusively on the coppery, fiery hybrid, unaware of any that are watching, passing by. Sky Island has faded into nothingness except the ground beneath our pounding hooves.

My hind legs in the air, my head down in front of me, I don't see what is going on. My emerald eyes don't see him rise up to avoid my hooves, or his crown coming down toward my flesh, teeth bared. His teeth meet my flesh and scrape along the top of my oh-so-fine ass, once again tearing my flesh. Blood trickles this time, the wound deeper than the first his teeth left. I wonder if blood staining my champagne hide will make me more or less attractive. Does he like the taste? Does he want more? I groan as my nerve endings shoot message of pain from the wound to my brain. I shake my head, my ears flapping against my head and my feather earring softly swinging against my cheek.

No pain no gain, right? And I still have pain to give; no beast who plays from the ground can keep up an airborne evasion forever. By silent agreement we have stayed on the ground thus far, and though the stallion has risen above my attack, I gather that he is returning to earth by what happens next. My hooves make contact against his forelegs, clacking against his lower legs. It's not what I had originally intended, but any attack is satisfying to me. My hooves return to the ground after inflicting damage, and I stay active and engaged, moving forward away from the beast. Almost immediately I spin around and size up my opponent. He's bigger than I, more built, but perhaps I am faster? We are both adorned with wings and horns; who truly has the advantage here? Is he a battle-tested champion, or is his appearance all bark and no bite? He's two for two on tearing flesh from bone, so perhaps he knows at least a little about this fighting thing. Now, what do I know?

I know that this no-wings thing is over. My body turns to face him and evaluate the distance between us. It seems he hasn't gone too far, and I will be able to reach him without too much difficulty. My wings spread out, a brilliant, vibrant magenta under the sun's rays. My haunches propel me forward, and my wings flap once to assist my movement. My nostrils are flared and eyes wide, my senses narrowing and focusing on my second attack. Again I rise up in the air, but this time it is my forelegs that strike out at his form. I pump my wings, hoping to stir up the sand and dust beneath us, to use it as a weapon and perhaps blind my opponent. Hooves fly through the air, aiming for whatever the stallion is foolish enough to leave within my reach, be it hindquarters, barrel, or head. If he stays facing away from me, perhaps I can cut or bruise his flank. If he turns, maybe I can knock the beast about the head a little. A breeze picks up, cooling for a moment my sweat-covered form, and I hope it will pick the sand up and toss it at my opponent as well. I may not be battle-tested, but maybe I can throw a punch or two as well!

671 words
2/3
Bite draws blood on her rump. As she moves away from Hector, she spins and jumps after him. Tries to kick with forefeet and use wings to stir dust and sand toward his face to blind him.

I'm so FANCY