Яikyn

The light rises, almost as if it is spurred by the lifting of my near black body from the murk below us, illuminating the gold of my body and brightening the pitch of my figure so that the chocolate is evident, peering from the drying layers of mud.

With a surge of adrenaline fueled by the worry that I have lost valuable time on the ground, my legs work madly, each muscle tensed and reaching to regain seconds, to slip by him without the touch of his hooves or maw, his useless horn of little concern to me in comparison to its comrades. I still expect the blows, feeling the side nearest him tense, but with a measure of surprise, I find myself unscathed as my hooves crack against the muscle of his flank, my teeth coming away with a chunk of white fur and crimson flesh that I spit aside.

Grotesque (will I ever get used to the wine of war?), the taste of his blood floods my senses, my tongue probing against the cool air for a flavor that is not metallic, for a sensation that is not the terrible loose flop of meat torn from its hold. The stench of it stains the air, grows harder and harder to ignore.

I hadn’t meant to bite him that hard – or maybe his skin is just softer than those I have tussled with before, or maybe I am just overzealous in my opportunity to rise above another on a field I claim talent in. I also find that I can’t help but wonder, as the chunk of flesh splishes against the muddy ground, if I should worry about having roughed him up as much as I have, even if it was mostly on accident, and he’d been the one to ask for the spar in the first place.

I don’t have time to worry too much, however, my position leaving me blind to the assault of Ashamin’s teeth which flash towards my golden limb, reaching to bruise or break the tender flesh of my stifle on the dark flesh of my left hind leg. Through some fluke of the universe, the purchase he gathers is minimal, a sharp pinch that nearly makes me squeal in a rather lady like manner – a high pitched noise still torn from my lips from where the small and sharp line of a pretty bad ass pressure bruise dimples my dark skin.

Instinctively, that golden leg strikes out to the side again, the thought of a potential kick to the Haruspex’s face or jaw making sense of the motion; however, the kick is so swift that I feel the newly chomped on muscle scream in protest, and I worry if it isn’t liable to lock up and stop working at all.

Wearing a wince as I urge the ache of my mid-leg and hip to forge onward, I transition into place for a buck, my front half swinging to the right in a semicircle so that my ass swings around to put my hind legs within the general region Ashamin had been when he’d bit my leg. Feeling my hip and the newest mark from the paint’s teeth throb in protest as I bundle my haunches up, I propel my hind limbs out behind me, a snort of excursion escaping my muzzle with a harsh blast, aiming for speed rather than strength with the strike.



[ 3/3 :: 571
Summary: Takes a painful but not very damaging bite to his stifle, which he strains mildly delivering a counter-kick to Ashamin's bite. There is now an obvious limp to his movements on the left side because it legit hurts. He then pivots to aim his haunches at Ashamin, and kicks out behind him with both hooves.
OOC: Rikyn says no to no battle ever. ;D ]

in every heart a hole