This confusing, illogical witch is swift. Surprisingly and shockingly nimble for hauling such a bulk. My teeth slide over her silken mane; an intoxicating taste of female musk mixes with the saliva on my tongue. The aching throb in my right shoulder helps sharpen my senses and fuel untapped rage. Falls dark sleuth leans away, pulling my neck with her and stretching an already fussy wound. With a visible whence the pain forces me to let go, though bits of mare are stuck between my molars and a few stray locks of her mane tickle my tongue.

Continuing forward, past this shadowed foe. I feel no pressure from the rear hoof that'd taken aim to strike her unseen forleg; sadly, my hindfoot finds nothing but air. Though not all is lost. Her shriek of frustration and the loosening feel of my magic when those arrows hit their mark, served to reassure my wounded pride that she felt at least a sample of my power. A taste, a tantalizing sip -- when all I wanted was for the crazy girl to gorge herself on whatever meal was offered. For a single heartbeat everything went still. The bay one was frozen in place, her flesh trembling beyond my range of view. Our bodies obscured each other in shadow...a painted darkness is upon the ground.

Surging ahead I spin hard right, twisting fast while keeping my crown tucked and dipped low, with one eye carefully trained on that Nightingale body. Breathing fast, I try to pull alongside the mare, moving both our crowns in alignment; the muscled flesh along my wing felt heat and seemed close enough to burn flesh. "Wha..." This minuscule lapse was spent and gave enough time for her to regroup will I vainly wasted it trying to catch her eye and force reason. Instead of speaking an explanation or offering an apology. She whirled with all teeth out to strike again. My thoughts are drowned, precious seconds gone. Those fangs take mark, I shy back to the left, patched hindquarters tense up in expectation. Tis not enough time.

My opponent snags flesh just below the right corner of my lower neck. The skin within her hot mouth pinches painfully; a soft gasp whelps as a raspy wheeze. I start to pull away, instinctively desiring to escape the affliction. Both ivory forefeet begin to rise from earth, the first twitch of a standing rear; but she meets my plan as if reading my thoughts and kicks her right forelimb up and out. My right forearm, shorter than her lengthy leg, takes a quick hit. A hot rush of pure agony surges through my body and sears me like white fire. Twice bled, there is now a damaging slash on the front side of my leg. Blood blossoms from the cut. Tis similar in length to the one which is already a horrible hindrance laid upon me. Both lacerations tug with each motion, a painful warning to apply caution.

Misery was our only safeguard against further hurt.

As she pulls away to the left, I settle on the cold dirt. Clinching my jaws as my weight screams into an aching limb. I start to surge after her, then think better of it and pause. I'm slowed by the burning sensation in that injured leg, it takes precedence and overrides the trouble with my shoulder. Though coupled together, I'm placed at a disadvantage. Instead of lashing toward that retreating carcass I lean left, calling upon magic to aid this fight. The earth begins to shake violently a foot ahead of me. Small cracks start to form -- those tremors and vibrations are sent in a powerful wave to my oppressor. Aiming to offset, or at best send her sprawling.

Sunkissed pinions slide free, the right wing connected to muscles and tendons on my wounded shoulder forces the powerful limb to remain lifted but useless for the moment. However, my left appendage is unaffected and starts flashing against the air, stirring up a swath of dry, cold dust. Perhaps a cloud and earthquake would distract and conceal long enough to make up for agility that I've lost due to wounds. Pressing through the dust, I try to swing at her left and close the nearest wing. Muscled neck extends, my jaws takes aim for whatever portion of her spine is within reach. The tall attempt is pointless and out of my reach due to a painful snip she left in the lower side of my neck and the dull ache of my shoulder. At the last moment I pull my attack lower, and aim toward those beady wet dots on her barrel, the result from my sand. I aim to fester those wounds by digging my teeth into one.

Words: 800
Attack: (2/3)
@[Essetia]