It seemed to Torleik that he had startled this poorly defined, light splotched horse in the distance when he called out, seeing as the being turned – just a fraction maybe? he wasn’t sure – and then looked like he wished to be anywhere but the place he was standing. Did this one not desire to battle? The former general would understand; not all were built for the crashing of bodies and the rush of adrenaline. But he’d bounded within reach of the stranger and inspected him in the silence, committing to memory what his eyes took in.

The stallion in front of him was a mixture of black and white, and the Bloodskald mused that in snow, having those white socks and hooves might make it harder to tell exactly where his feet were to attack (or avoid attack). What caught his attention the most, though, sat at opposite ends of the newcomer's body: eyes black as the starless void and tail long enough to be his own noose. Torleik had witnessed lengthy rudders in the past – Resplendence’s long, treacherous backside locks came to mind – but this particular tail trumped all others. How did he not step on it? How had he avoided having someone crush it or cut it off? He supposed if the young one avoided battle…

And then it dawned on the smoky rabicano that perhaps he’d challenged a scholar or healer who did not parlay in violence and blood at all. He had considered the lack of want for fighting but not the lack of experience or a flat out revulsion for such brutality. Maybe this one was a pacifist. Torleik did not understand those at all and he could not –

His thoughts were silenced by his potential opponent finally breaking his own verbal celibacy and offering a name and rank: Ashamin, soldier of the Basin. Well, well. He hadn’t been wrong after all, had he? Muscles coiled as this Ashamin extended his muzzle, a curious, bemused gaze studying the smaller stallion. What was this? A…greeting? A ritual before the fight? Awkwardly, the Bloodskald tried to mirror, briefly extending his head in the direction of the white and black, then dipping his crown low, eyes never leaving Ashamin’s form. The horn atop his crown was…strange, just like everything else about him, Torleik decided. Knotted around itself – was that a stone? – the Edge King wondered how useful of a weapon it would be. “Ashamin, I am Torleik, King of the World’s Edge, formerly the Aurora Basin General,” he returned, standing tall now. “Honor me with a fierce battle, boy, and I will count your words true.”

Something in this young stallion wasn’t quite set and solidified; maybe it was nervousness the experienced warrior sensed, or maybe he was overanalyzing the quiet, reserved nature of this newly met body. It was of little consequence now. Ashamin stepped back and Torleik cocked his dual-horned head to the right slightly, the need to test himself, push his body, fight through pain taking over and ensconcing his mind and guiding him towards a singular purpose: violence.

‘I watch.’

Clearly Irelyn did not wish to participate in this particular spar. Torleik let it slide – she was probably hidden somewhere already, and his bonded was not one to wish harm on those who had not first harmed him. Though his nature demanded the roughness and bloodshed of combat he would never demand she mirror his battle lust and alter her disposition just for him. Such selfishness was the mark of a weak man. Keen gaze assessing his opponent’s position on what looked like slightly higher ground, his cloven hooves and the rocky ground, the Bloodskald knew he would have to be careful with his footing; he was already at two disadvantages, only one of which he could remedy.

He needed to drive Ashamin from his little hill.

Circling to his right in a slow trot, Torleik tried to position himself to attack at an angle, rather than head on. He gave no battle cry when his hooves dug in to launch him towards his opponent, no vicious bellow or intimidating howl. The ambient soundtrack of nature was the backdrop for his opening volley, the crunch of rocks beneath his feet, the spatapatat of dirt falling onto dirt, the grunt of exertion at the sudden movement. Hurtling himself towards Ashamin’s body the Bloodskald lowered his head, pointed his horns at what he hoped was the white and black’s left side, and charged with thunderous effort, a precision attack the least of his goals.

If he could hit the child, fabulous; if he drove him from his spot: success.

----------------------------------------

@[Ashamin]

WC: (774 in Word) || Attack (1/3) || Defense (0/1)

Summary: Torleik finds himself on what appears to be the low ground. Since he perceives Ashamin to have the high ground, he tries to drive him from his position by circling around to what should be Ashamin’s left side and charging with horns down. He does not aim for any specific part of Ashamin’s side.


Notes:

• I definitely got a sense of Ashamin’s self-doubt and inability to fully find himself/tie himself to an idea, place, or person. Very well done!
  
• Though I could work through everything just fine, there were sentences scattered here and there that I found myself re-reading to try to get a better idea of what you meant. For example, “each crumbling leaf snapping beneath the shadows of his cleft hooves a scare of a threat” – for me, there were a number of conflicting images in the sentence that made it a little clunky on first read-through. Does a crumbling leaf snap? I would say it would crunch feebly, but not snap like a twig would snap. A shadow doesn’t have substance, so how do the shadows of his hooves make the leaves fall apart? “a scare of a threat” reads awkwardly to me; I would smooth it out with something more akin to, “reminiscent of a threat” or, to take the whole chunk of the sentence into consideration, “each crumbling leaf crushed beneath cleft hooves a harbinger of unknown danger.” That’s the only one I’ll go into detail on (I don’t mean to be harsh in any way, just thorough!) because I think you’ll get the idea of re-reading and re-working sentences that don’t quite flow. Trust me, I struggle with it all the time, too!
  
• There was a bit of repetition that I ran into, more towards the end of the post, mostly with using Ashamin’s name quite a bit. Describe your character in various ways to avoid being tied to identifying them by one thing. I liked when you called him the younger stallion; you could also call him the lighter one, the cloven hooved (since Torleik has solid hooves), the current Basin inhabitant, the less-experienced male, etc. Contrast him to the others in the thread for unique variety each time :)
  
• Keeping with his character and making him defer the first move to Torleik is a nice touch, and you tied it in well with why he would do that based on something more than just his lack of confidence – he’s also courteous. Very nice!