Beautiful and smiling, the woman of ivory rage stood before him, rose-accented body encasing the venomous hatred that overspilled from her long-lashed eyes. It leaked into her smile and her sweetly spiteful words. Despite the (refreshingly) honest animosity that billowed out from Orithia, he could not help the amused grin that crossed his face at her smartly sassy mouth.

Though it melted from his face as her wings snapped open with breakneck speed. Still not accustomed to fighting those with wings (they did not exist in Dorobo), he was momentarily beguiled by the magnificent fury that moved towards him. But, as her lithe and athletic legs drove sharp white hooves at his chest, his old training belatedly jerked his muscles into action. Hurriedly, he backed away from her attack. But he was too late to entirely avoid her hooves, which left malevolently affectionate love-scrapes against his solid, black chest, removing hair and the first few layers of thick hide.

Sluggishly, as if deciding if this was worth its appearance, a few drops of blood from ruptured, superficial capillaries beaded to his skinned chest. It stung sharply, but was more of an annoyance than a true pain.

Her coral primaries gently caressed the newly scarred skin on his shoulder, as his backwards movement had taken him out of the way of her wing’s punishing blow. Though a brief flare of appreciation for that attack sparked in him— seeing the new skin and exploiting it was a cunning strategy. He began to rethink his initial impression of her as a raging, reckless warrior. Perhaps she was a sharpened weapon rather than the blunt hammer he had imagined her as.

Dark blue eyes, shining with adrenaline and excitement (and perhaps relief, as his inner beast was thankfully dormant), he watched her begin leap backwards, away from him. With a harsh snort of effort, he bunched his massive haunches to propel his heavy body up the slight incline. His leaping body and lowered horn followed her slight pivot to the right, giving him some of gravity’s advantage as his massive horn sought the sensitive underside of her left wing.

Though he thought his aim was true, he wasn’t entirely certain where flesh ended and feathers began. In the back of his mind, he acknowledged that he needed to spar with more of his winged warriors so that he would be better prepared in battle. Not that there was an upcoming battle. But, as he embraced the general of his past during spars, he was forever preparing for the eventual war. It was a habit that would die hard— if it died at all.

As his heavy body lurched through the air, his eyes darkened while he studied the mare of feminine lines and contrastingly athletic muscle. Again, his ever-busy subconscious wondered what would give such a beautiful mare the need for such fury and rage. The image of her standing before him, defiantly, entire being a destructive dare, flashed in his eyes. Did she want to be hurt? The thought soured his mind and, unfortunately, stirred his beast from its slumber.

It would be more than happy to oblige any of her masochistic tendencies.

A:1/3
D:0/1
WC: 534
Damage Tracker: lightly scraped chest;
Summary: Her hooves scrape his chest. He lunges with his horn towards the underside of her left wing. @Orithia