Яikyn

I’m not much for conversation before a spar. It gives your opponent time to throw you off with well placed taunts or suggestions, and it gives you time to get your own verbal jabs in, giving neither one of those involved in the fight a fair approximation of the others strengths and defenses - things you need to know about your herd mates in times of war. Besides, what enemy stops to say hi and ask about the weather before delivering their first blow?

It seems that Ashamin doesn’t share this logic, because as I’m bearing down on him I get the sense that he hadn’t expected me to come at him so suddenly. His legs wildly churn in the mud, sending blots of it leaping towards me, in combination with the idiotic flashing of his hooves help me reach this final assumption.

It’s idiotic because the footing doesn’t really suit such a tactic, and also because it makes him look, well, like an idiot.

I’m laughing at the sight of him (in a good natured way, of course) when he slips, the sound of my chuckles cut short in a gasp of chagrin, his dual hued figure stumbling far out of the safe range of my strike with no time for me to adjust the angle of the assault. The gasp is answered with the pressure of his flesh for only the slightest of moments before the gilded tip of my blade has bit into his lower hip, the air ringing in unison with, ironically, the same curse from either of our mouths, as the first drops of blood hit the Basin floor with subtle little plinks.

"Shiiiit!" I shout with concern rather than agony, trying to back pedal at the last moment, continuing to pull away after my weapon has penetrated his sinew – my horn slips free in all my efforts, thankfully, but so do three of my four hooves.

The forth bucks up madly when a flash of white light scatters across the liquid laced earth, trying to avoid the touch of their arcing heat successfully – but as I come back down, I fail to find much traction, my hind legs buckling out from underneath me to send my back half down into the mud. Painfully my apology to the man is stolen (I really hadn’t meant to skewer him) with a jolt that slams through my hip and gaskin, my right hip hits the mud with a splash that coats me in the murky gray brown filth.

Scrambling to get back up, I manage to leap upwards in an awkward mess of matted mane and flying earth, the bruise rising in the lower portion of my hip causing a pained grunt to flow from me as I put weight down on my golden leg.

Using the momentum of my regained footing, I take a strong step forward (my long limbs swallowing the earth) and breath a deep breath of the cool air, now stained with the scent of his blood; relieving the ache of my right hip momentarily as both my back legs kick up off the ground, I aim for the Haruspex’s left side with a strong cow kick. Mud splays from the impact of my front legs, wide in stance to support the arc of my body as it curves, dirty water sprays from the tips of my mud matted tail which bends through the atmosphere for balance.

As soon as my hind legs touch the terra again (landing hard, a throb pulsing through the bruised flesh of my hip), I follow up the buck with a reach of my neck, my white teeth trying the air for purchase on his painted left hip or croup.

[ 2/3 :: 623 words
Summary: Tries to avoid stabbing Ashamin, losing most of his balance; he loses the rest as he tries to hop up and avoid the flash of lightning on the ground and lands roughly on his right hip, bruising it pretty deeply. He gets up and takes a big step forward before trying to kick Ashamin's left side with his back legs, then tries to bite Ashamin's left butt cheek because... yeah.

OOC: He's not technically in the rank yet - it won't be affecting his stats or anything like that, so I don't know if it would count? If it can than yeah, I totally wouldn't mind it being a seasonal spar (two birdsssss). :3 ]

in every heart a hole