The satisfaction of your body hitting against hers, flesh grinding against flesh, bodies beating bodies and drawing sharp pains where blunt sides have melded together should be drawing a smile to your lips. You should be relishing in the mild pain, the knowledge of a job well done, a tactic tried that succeeded; yet, somehow, you find that the satisfaction you get is superficial- cursory, even. The rush is there, surely, but it does not stay. It doesn’t linger in your heart and drive you onwards the way you are familiar with. Why?

Hallucinations, you suspect. It’s hard to be excited about something when there is equal chance of it being reality or fiction. Did you hit her, or did you just think you hit her? Did you bruise her and throw her off course? Is Ghost even here now, fighting you? Fiction and reality meld, the two having become one at the whim of the Moon Bitch, and you still haven’t sorted out a good way to tell one from the other. Even the sharks in the water and the crocodiles on the beach are mysterious to you. Here or not? It’s hard to say.

Speaking of, the lady leader does not seem too phased by the shark you’ve tossed her direction. Reality, or fiction? The scale tilts, leaning in the direction of fantasy. It makes you braver, and you advance through the water, droplets splashing up your limbs. The scenery is odd, the roar of the waterfall behind you distracting, and you lose your focus as you turn to catch a glance of the falling waters. Snowflake likes them so much, they remind you of her. But as much as you may miss her, this battle is not for her. So, if the morphing frame you see behind the waterfall is truly Snowflake or not, you cannot lose your focus for so long.

When you turn back from the waterfall, surprise invades your bones, making you tense. You had not expected the lady leader to come head on towards you. Dancing backwards through the water, your hooves rise exceptionally high, trying to fight the drag of the water. So slow going backwards, though, you are no match for Ghost’s speed. She catches you, if aware, and you only just manage to toss your head to the side away from her horn. No need to get cut on the face, if you can help it. Instead, her horn slides down the left length of your neck towards your shoulder.

The pain of the long cuts, deep and flowing crimson, is enough to spur you forward. Heaving your body forward, trying to remember that the sharks in the water are fake. It’s difficult- your steps still falter as one tries to bite you. Stupidly, since your blood has not yet clotted in the wounds, you decide that your left neck would make an excellent weapon. Throwing your head and girth to the side, you attempt to assault her. A battering would do nicely, a reminder that you’re bigger and badder than she is. Continuing to drive forward, you try to buck, splashing water everywhere in the process, hoping that your shoed hind hooves might come in contact somewhere on the woman. All the while you’re doing this, your companion is trying to help as well, picking up rocks and attempting to aim them towards Ghost, wondering if they will leave small wounds like the twinging reminder of the stone lodged in your left shoulder blade.

Oh, how you would love to see her yield to you in this battle.

Post| 2/3
WC| 599