Demons of Gaucho? Did the Wildfire just crack a joke?! The surprise at the joke was enough to distract Altan in his dive, and he missed the dun. No matter. Or, it wasn't until while he pursued the Sultan, something went 'pop' in his wing. That didn't sound good. His left wing began screaming in protest, each pump carrying a new pain, a fresh spear through his nerves. Pain was not new to him, but he never seem to get used to it.

It felt like he was flying through mud, or at least half of him was. So when Gaucho twisted in the air, using his fire, Altan hardly had time to react before hooves found his chest, his wings, his legs. It felt like each hit was a small boulder against already tender skin, and muscle tore when one hoof found his left shoulder. With a squeal he lashed out, trying to hit Gaucho with everything left in his body. His white-dipped legs lashed out to try and hit Gaucho's belly and legs, his teeth snapping to try and grab as much flesh in a bite as he could.

But his wings, his energy, was spent. With a faint groan the black folded his wings and dropped towards the ground, wings unfurling before he could hit the earth. But his left wing buckled, and Altan landed hard, nearly falling on his face and only barely managing to catch himself before he could fall. His legs trembled, ears pinned back. He had taken a worse beating when Gaucho was blind rather than when he could see! It made bile rise in his throat, and even his good-humored nature soured under the defeat.

However, what concerned him most was his wing. His entire left shoulder wept blood, and folding his wing nearly tore a yell from him. Okay, yeah, let's avoid that. Altan ran his lips carefully over the jagged holes in his shoulder, flinching at the pain before moving onto his wing, mouthing the flesh until he found where his wing had 'popped'. His shoulder joint. Go figure. Nostalgia, oh sweet painful nostalgia.

He avoided looking at Gaucho, grinding his teeth. He was more than out of practice. He was weak. The black honestly wouldn't be surprised to turn and see disappointment etched on the Sultan's face. "You certainly put me through the ringer this time." He said, finally turning to face Gaucho, a bitter tilt to his tone. "Even handicapped i can't seem to take you on." He offered a wry, dry smile before it fell.

A thought tugged at his mind, an idea. Twice Gaucho had bested him, and magic had held a large part in doing so. Maybe it was time the Morningstar sought out magic of his own. It was an...intriguing idea.

Attack: 3/3
Summary: He takes damage when his wing joint pops, straining itself. When Gaucho turns to face him in the air he meets him head-on, snapping out his hooves and biting at him to try and get a few more licks in before he folds his wings and drops down to the ground.

Word Count: 468 Tags: @[Gaucho]