He promised her a spar.

A spar she will have.

She could hardly have chosen a more repulsive day to take the handsome blood-bay up on his promise. The sky is a mass of roiling grey clouds, so black as to be almost opaque - although it is midday, it is as dark as night time. Rain hammers down from the heavens like miniature bullets, and the wind is so strong that the mare has to bow her head against it and brace her limbs against the ground to keep her balance. A sudden growl of thunder snatches her attention, and she looks to the sky with a grim smile. A storm? How fitting.  An arc of lightning illuminates the world around her and she feels her skin sizzle with frenzied anticipation, her flesh quivering with delight. To lock horns with Déodat in her favourite weather condition?! The Gods have smiled on her today, giving her a storm to dance to!

As she moves to the Heavenly Fields, she sees countless animals sheltering from the weather. A speckled doe crouches beneath a bush with her fawn nestled beside her, a blackbird huddles closer down onto her hatchlings to keep them warm, and Nyx feels her heart ache with the familiar pains of spring. It is rare for her not to have a foal at foot during this time of year, and the craving is there - it is only natural, and not something she can help. As with all mares, spring bids her to carry her tail that bit higher, arch her neck that bit more, bounce on her tiptoes with more gusto than usual, and her lecherous gazes towards stallions contain more heat than what is perhaps socially acceptable. But that is most certainly nothing to do with the man she is about to face in battle, or so she tells herself. It is simply nature, the turn of the world that gives mares their fertility at this time of year, and even the steel soldier is victim to it.

But those thoughts are pushed away as she finds a suitable clearing to use as a battlefield. She is no weak-kneed woman, to go googly eyed at a man and let her guard down as a result; she has always prided herself as being stronger than that, immune to the pleasures of the flesh. Alas, she is a living, breathing creature, and is not made of steel, despite what she might think and hope. The place she's chosen has short grass, coated by moisture from the rain and with mud showing beneath the shoots - it will be slippy, for sure. Behind her, trudging miserably through the mire with his mane flattened by the rain, is Dominus; his mouth is set into a hard line and his muscles are tense with displeasure. He hates being wet, and is less than pleased with Nyx for dragging him out in such dreadful weather. But his love of bloodshed outweighs that, and the silver is sure he will liven up once the fight begins.

With a huff of cool air from her nostrils, Nyx turns her back on the rain and throws back her head, whinnying for Déodat so they may begin their battle. ""

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0/3 - words

Summary: Set in the Heavenly Fields during a storm, companions and magic are fine with me c: