I feel my hind hooves make contact with the Peahen's shins, scraping down them. In my mind I imagine it like scraping nails down a chalkboard, but when it comes to flesh and bone, I imagine there is much less squeaking. Not to mention less audible pain and more pain in the skin and muscle. As I land, I hear mud squelch beneath my hooves, and it is with difficulty that I'm able to pull myself from the spot. As I turn, I see Damaris miss her own attack. I feel my chest tighten as I watch her nervously. The snapping jaws are certainly to be feared, but they latch onto nothing.

The Peahen doesn't appear too pleased with the hellhound and to my horror, instead of coming after me, she goes after the dark pup. Bellona runs at the pup, intending to trample her. I cry out in my panic. "Damaris!" The pup hears me and looks up in time to see the charging Peahen. She dodges out of the way, yelping in a moment of panic, not weighted down by the mud as we larger beings are. I snarl at the mare, feeling outraged that she would direct her rage toward my companion. I'm thankful that neither of us are hurt, but psychologically, that bitch has now struck quite a blow. Herd mates or no, Bellona is officially on my bad side. Of course, I should have expected her to retaliate against a smaller, easier target. After all, Damaris attacked first. But that doesn't change even the slightest bit of my feelings.

I bellow in rage, my lobes pinned against my thick skull. My nostrils flare as I snort and charge the colorful mare. My bellowing makes my attack no secret, and I'm sure the Falls spy will have ample time to prepare a defense. I lower my head, my sharp, rough horns and spikes pointed at where Bellona stood last I looked. I canter toward her, hoping to jab her in the side and leave a few punched holes in that pretty hide. The mud beneath us flies up, hitting my belly and my legs, but no one can really tell because I'm sort of a muddy colored fellow already - exempting reddish hues and the rabicano.

Damaris jumps out of the way of any flying hooves, whining at first then growling at the Peahen. Her glowing eyes narrow and she barks loudly, trying to distract the mare from my attack. 'Careful.' She tries to tell me, but I am single-minded. Punch the colorful one with my horns, hopefully in her fleshy belly. No one attacks my beloved!

2/3
WC: 440
Tag: @[Bellona]
Had less to write about with a miss!

Rostislav

more than a drunken fool