He wishes for nightfall. In the dark, perhaps his limbs would quiet down; perhaps his muscles wouldn’t stand out rigid, shaking like ropes overdrawn. Caneo sucks warm air into his lungs, and spring clings wet to the darkness in his chest. His heart is a drum, a pounding alarm, its erratic beat hard against the insides of his ribs. In answer to that, he moves. His stride takes him nervously forward, light sweeping steps like a dancer’s over the ground, so far from aggressive any bystander might wonder – and what brought you again?. Perhaps he is still looking for the girl, the knight with the sun at her back – but she is not here.

        Someone else is.

        The air around the stranger reeks with that sweet, dusty smell Caneo’s mind gives to birds. Feathers like shields hang over high, golden sides, and Caneo thinks of the sun again, and feels himself withering down. The boy is a slim, narrow thing, small now in the presence of the feathered king, his silver skin fine as velvet even if the muscle underneath stands out like wire thinned from steel. He does not know the man’s name, or what brings his opponent here; he does not know if those heavy hooves will come at him in killing blows, or not. His mind spins rapidly and slowly narrows down, attention flickering across the stronger, larger body, flickering so briefly to the other stud’s face in hasty effort to read whatever may be written there – but does it matter? If they are to fight, as the others are fighting, Caneo ought not waste time looking. He mills nervously a little longer, his circling dance familiar, maybe, to anyone who has seen dogs about to fight. He is not a knight; he is not a king. Thin veils of something delicate hang over his too-sharp angles, fluttering with his movement, swaying demure in the morning light. His tail lashes once, a betrayal of the fear coiling in him like a snake, and the silver bands down its length all flash – once. Then suddenly his nervous dance is done and he moves, a quick thrust of his narrow legs fast as the glint of light off his too-short horn.

        He thrusts forward in a straight line, and suddenly his ears are back, pressed hard against the crown of his skull, dainty silver wires gleaming beneath them for the briefest moment. He leads with that dagger-horn, the cut aimed somewhere for the other stallion’s shoulder, on the left side, just before the wing. Then halfway through the leap Caneo thinks better of it, imagines flesh giving way to his assault, imagines the golden man plowing forward into him, crushing him with no effort at all. The silver boy’s front hooves slam down again and wild-eyed he cuts the motion short. His haunches tremble; muscle pulls again at bone and he swerves to the right, toward the golden man’s haunches, his head down. He tries to duck under the massive sweep of that wing, his head lowered against any possible assault, as his hind hooves come up instead. Graceless, flinging his body about like a newborn, he aims a kick for the same shoulder, cloven toes swinging fast through the air. One eye cocks back to watch, as if unable to believe the move at all, himself. Thin fabric swings unhelpfully across his vision, as if laughing at him. He cannot imagine hurting this man but he will try, all the same. No one is coming to do it for him.

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attack: 1/2
word count: 591 words
notes: Caneo is dressed as a princess. He is wearing a narrow silver circlet across his brow, fastened to his horn. A fine veil of mostly transparent white material hangs down from it and over his nose, with an opening around his eyes. A half-blanket of similar material drapes his haunches, and connects to his tail via a series of thick silver bands.
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He opened with a feint toward Kaj's left shoulder, then turned and kicked with both hind legs at the same shoulder, ducking in case Kaj lifted up his wing and tried to hit with it.