He felt the vessels of her wing pulse between his teeth and her bone as his mouth closed firmly, unforgivingly, bruising at the joint. His lips disappeared into silken feathers while the left side of his face rubbed against her snowy coat. Instinctually, the promise of tightening his teeth to draw blood filed him with elation— but it was premature, because suddenly there were more feathers in his mouth. Too many. Too much. The sharp tang of his own blood filled his mouth as her vicious shove of the wing pinched his sensitive oral mucosa and tongue against the sharp edges of his molars. A grunt and sputter escaped him as he was suddenly spitting her joint out from his lips. Oh, his mouth would be sore, tomorrow; grazing would be a chore.

Awkwardly, with lurching movements due to the limited extending ability of his hind right, he shuffled backwards from his pivot at she tried to stick alongside and follow him. A roaring snort unconsciously left his black nostrils as he aimed to face towards her. Dark blue eyes raked her athletic wings and muscular body (appreciation sparked subconsciously within him), quickly seeking a point of weakness. But he found none. His scrutiny did, however, allow him to catch the preliminary quivering of her lithe neck, foretelling the open-mouth attack that followed with lighting speed as her gleaming, bloodied teeth aimed to re-injury his leg.

The smallest shadow of a grin twitched at the corners of his mouth when he felt his body react instinctively, whispers of his training remembered by taunt muscles. Clumsily balancing the majority of his weight on his hind left leg, his heavy forehand raised in a low rear and great ivory hooves sought to strike her aggressively stunning face. But cream ears pin flush with his neck as a sharp twinge from his right knee reminds him of the bruising kick she had landed earlier.

Though, as his his great height rose even higher, the small amount of triumph— of comfort—that returned with his body’s training fled as his own eyes caught sight of the expression in Elsa’s. Gone was the lighthearted sass. Gone was her smart smirk. Instead, dark sapphires of destructive rage glinted at him. The corner of his vision caught jittering movements of Edgar, and unease billowed through him as thick lips pressed in on his sore mouth.

His hooves plunged down towards her face and a fleeting thought of calling off this spar flitted through the back of his mind. He did not know his fellow lead that well— perhaps talking would be best before they set tooth against hoof, horn against wing? The thought was short lived, however. Surely a mare chosen by the Lady of Night ought to be able to spar against her King. And, surely, she should be able to check any murderous rages that filled her?

Doubt followed as his thoughts processed, in mere fractions of seconds, through his large skull. There had been a time when he, in all his undirected anger, and been unable to control his rage. But he had known the potentially devastating damage of his fury, and had avoided contact with others. Many trees had splintered beneath his hooves, many boulders pounded to dust. Until he had directed his wrath towards something— then he had been able to control it. Or, perhaps funnel it more than ‘control’ it.

Yet here was his icy Queen, having admitted to losing so much, and still sparring with him. He had assumed another leader would similarly control their urges. He should know better than to assume anything of anyone. Would he ever learn?

The rage in Elsa’s eyes hardened, and his doubt grew.
A: 2/3
D: 0/1
WC: 622
Damage Tracker: Bruised back of right knee; Partially torn muscles back of right stifle; bruised/pinched inside mouth
Summary: To clarify: his last attack was biting at the wing joint where it attaches to Elsa's shoulder. I should have made that clearer :| For this attack, he rears his front hooves towards her lowered, biting face. @Elsa

He paid for his sins. He was saved.

But some sins haunt us no matter how much we pay.