If ever there were a time to turn tail, surrender and run... this would be it. Hits from the dark mare, her dark stallion friend, and Kaj of the World's Edge have left me severely weakened, and to say I am at a disadvantage would be a horrible understatement. Aviya's attack left me aching on my left ribs, while her partner stallion left me aching on my right ribs. Kaj, the last to hit of the four who attacked me, bruises the left side of my rump beneath the metal plates. Though certainly the armor that I'm still becoming accustomed to has protected me from what might be a certain death, the combined force of my sustained wounds is overpowering. Though I have spun to lash out at the three who have successfully hit me, I have failed to hit any of them. Of course this is a wound to my pride and my hopes of making out of this in one piece. This invasion, the one that I really should have seen coming, might be the death of us all, myself included. Were we really so alone in this world that no one should come to our aid? Were those of the Throat so distant? Did the Edge really consider the Basin a better, greater friendship than one with us?

In the chaos, the confusion, I barely notice what goes on around us. In fact, I am almost lost to the fact that the stallions have moved away to find others to fight. I only notice that my biting and kicking has no effect on those around me. The swift mare with the broken horn has danced out of my reach before I could make contact, and I'm left the heaping mess with barely a hope against my untouched foe. She has lashed out again at my joints below my armor, but as I stagger sideways I move just enough so that her horn's jagged cut across my skin is superficial, and the bleeding is minimal. I heave for air, winded from the attacks and my failed efforts to harm my enemies. As I inhale, a strange fog rises around me, surrounding me, invading my lungs. I cough, as the density of the air feels strange in my nostrils.

Instead of feeling my oxygen supply replenished, I'm struggling for air, struggling to breath. I gasp, a rattling breath being the only result. What is this horrible devilry that threatens to suffocate my lungs, my brain? I can only guess that it is from this fog that comes with the obsidian Basiner. Damaris whines, suffering from similar effects though not as concentrated. 'Run!' It's all I can manage as I strain to stay standing. Reluctantly and with a breathy howl, she does, perhaps to go help another Falls victim. I feel myself weaken, my gaze being bleary and dim, and a darkness - so much darker than the night brought on by Silas - threatens to overcome me. Though she has left, I hear Damaris's voice in my mind, quiet but clear: 'Don't give up Rosti.' So I don't.

The fog begins to clear, and I steady myself, though my body still remains fatigued and vulnerable. Was the oxygen there all along? Was the suffocation just a figment of my imagination? It doesn't matter now, all that matters is that the breath of life continues to my lungs, through my arteries to my muscles and brain. As the fog clears and my eyesight returns to a greater accuracy, I see Her charging straight on. I groan with effort as I lurch to the right, trying to avoid her. I'm not fast enough, and though I've made the situation more manageable, she collides with the left side of my rump, knocking me off balance. I stumble to the side and try my hardest to correct myself, turning on my hind to the left, toward where she'd just been. With a fierce, determined bellow I bow my head down, horns aiming toward her rump, if she hasn't turned around yet. Surely I must be able to make contact with her? Surely, surely I can at least wound my enemy before what could only be my inevitable fall. "ARRRGHHH!" A garbled yell is the only way I can communicate now, too exhausted to form words, though my intention is clear: You shall not get away so easily, and I will NOT go down without a fight.

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Rostislav

more than a drunken fool