Яikyn

I find Ashamin in the mouth of his yawning cave, the gloss of the mirror behind him drawing my eye as it always does, though I try my best to remain focused on he and Lochan as my long legs sway to a halt in the mud and slush, further flecking my form with earthen blots; every speck is chilled by the Birdsong winds that have not yet realized that the snows are fleeing. The same mud saturates my tail and fetlocks, the dark hair bound in sodden, filthy chunks, my belly occasionally dripping murky brown water, though it is likely hard to discern in the dim lighting of the night.

I lift my head proudly and offer no words, anticipation working its wild way through my muscles, my forelegs jogging restlessly as my eyes sweep across his painted figure, taking note of the strange lightning device curled ominously about his tail – an ear flicking back in annoyance toward its presence.

I decide that it is fair enough; he hasn’t a true blade to fight with, after all, only that tangled mess of one which drips like wax left in the sun down his face. Perhaps it is only sportsmanlike to allow him to bring a weapon onto the field as I do.

Having felt no growth of warmth towards the man since our last meeting and eager to bring about the battle, I quickly finish my summation of my opponent before meeting his eyes and flashing a charming grin, feeling the rise of my heart as I prepare for the spar at hand.

"And go," I impishly state before my charge, my body tensing from head to hoof, each limb leaping to life and carrying me across the mud and dying snow towards the bicolored stag, my neck arched so that the gleaming, golden tip of my horn is angled for both defense and assault.

Just before the impact with what I assume is his front half, I push back onto my haunches, my cloven hooves buckling down for purchase on the slippery sod which is ripped astray by my stop, flinging chunks of soggy earth and grass through the air, pelting my belly; with a sudden flick of my forelegs and a partial rear, I attempt to sling some of the nasty filth which coats the gold of my hooves into the face of the painted stallion, hoping the spray which issues from them is at least a distraction, if not blinding.

With a grotesque squelch of mud and still in a quarter rear, I quickly lunge myself forward and towards the left, cursing the thaw for its noisiness under hoof with a rough snort that blasts from my dark nostrils; reaching over towards my right with my golden tipped horn, I attempt to strike the Haruspex on the right side, perhaps in his shoulder, or side – though I do try not to break his skin, using the length of my blade rather than its devastating tip.


[ 1/3 :: 500 words
Summary: Rikyn comes at Ashamin from what he believes is a head on angle and attempts to sling mud in his face with his front hooves. He then angles left and forward a pace or so, attempting to smack the length of his horn along Ashamin's shoulder.
OOC: Yaaaaay ~ ]

in every heart a hole