My side was flaring with pain with every step and it felt like my skin was crawling right off of me. I snorted and grunted, heaving as I charged for the flaming stud. I didn’t get that far, to be honest; I shot my bolt at him--at him this time, not just a blind shot—and after that my knees wobbled and my hooves stumbled underneath me. And--oh yeah-- my mane was still on fire, and I was beginning to feel that heat start to warm up the topline of my neck (not like I had that much of a mane to begin with). And after all of that—after having my eyes wide open and my vision cleared up and everything and I got a solid look at the bastard--

--I miss anyway.

He was flying into the air, and at that point I was too frustrated and hurting to follow where he was going. The flames that still flickered on the ends of my hair caused lights to dance at the corner of my vision, doing nothing to help my scratchy, irritated irises to really pinpoint a bullet-fast fucker in the sky anymore. I stumbled some more, jerking out of a “charge” into more of a flimsy, awkward trot; then everything failed after that, because something huge or strong or whatever struck me from above with a—

--WHAP—

--and all of me hit the dust, my body thrown to the ground like a ragdoll. My shitty vision blacked for an instant; the world spun around me and stars erupted inside my head. The most I could possibly do was make sure I landed on the side that wasn’t smoky and throbbing and gross with looseish skin. Not that it didn’t still hurt to be thrown on my side like that, because now my shoulders were stinging and throbbing too, bludgeoned as they were by what I could’ve only assumed where hooves.

My molars were grinding against the steady throb of my body—but that was the only movement I dared to make. Because ow I was hurting and, even though everything in my heart was rebelling against the burn and the ouch and everything sensible about this situation, I learned one more lesson. Which I guess was admitting defeat and teaching myself how to sew a white flag. Or…something. Jeez, the point was that there was a time to lay your ass down and stay there. Every fight didn’t need to be fought; every fight had to end someday.

My ear flicked a little when I heard him yell at me from across the way--still ready to fight it seemed, like I had been nothing but some gnat in his ear. Which, I guess, I had been. He had been minding his own business, hadn’t he? Hmph. Well, guess he took care of business well and truly, at any rate.

*"Done?"*

NO.

…Yes.

I don’t know, man.

“Yeah, whatever,” I said, my voice noticeably flimsier than his had been. Not like I had anything to be mad at him about. He had done everything I wanted him to do—and now, all I really wanted to do was lay there and throb for a good, long while.


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[ WC:[565/800]

ATTACKS: [3/3] CD [1/1] ]