A grim sort of satisfaction settled within the steed as his teeth clacked against flesh, not drawing blood but at least hitting, disturbing the flesh, tenderising it. When he went forth with his next strike, the same occurred - he realised his enemy had slipped by then, too caught up was he in the rush and thrill of it all to realise what an advantage he had been given. But it made him wary - his aching shoulder complained as he dug deeper in the wet, sandy base below them to ensure his footing was secure. He grit his teeth and pressed forward, hard, all the strength of his behemoth body pushing his antlers further into and across his enemy's hide, shredding it - Grimalkin was walk away from this with blood dripping into his eyes, and it was with savage and rogue delight that he flashed forward within his own mind to such a moment of triumph and glory.

The thought did not linger long, for he was reminded of his present predicament with an abrupt trip, an overbalance - as Volterra regained ground and swung out of his reach, Grimalkin tipped heavily onto his forehand, fatigue affecting almost every one of his muscles (suddenly his antlers had become cumbersome and heavy after the strain of pressing his bulk into Volterra's rump). The toll of the fight slowed him considerably, adding to the aches and the heavy sand that dragged at his feet. Frustration curdled as he could see the pale-faced son-of-a-bitch coming at him with teeth bared but he just couldn’t move fast enough to get out of his way. Volterra's teeth pinched just the skin that Grim had been aiming for upon the black brute earlier: those delicate folds just above the stifle, sensitive and prone to swell at the slightest insult; Grimalkin knew he would be walking crooked for a week, even as he pushed off with his hinds sliding (but not falling) beneath him, managing to tear free before Volterra could rip the skin open and paint his socks red.

He thought it was done then, that the stallions had had their scuffle, their dance in wind and storm and rain, and would now part ways. But it wasn't done - what the fu- - the thought wasn't even allowed to gain traction in his mind as suddenly a flash of crimson and a slash of pain opened across his spine. Grimalkin - the juggernaut once more - bowed his great crown and pushed forward, his shoulder, his rump and now his back screaming at him to end it, stop it, remove the pain, the agony. His sudden movement must have worked, for the dragon, the pesky flying lizard, was soon dislodged, leaving him with more scratches and slashes to let the rain wash and numb - for now, it just felt like his entire top half was on fire with pain.

He came to a stop as he heard the voice of the stallion, his enemy for tonight, his nemesis, speak, three simple words of compliment. Breaths were dragging themselves through his lungs, his entire body seemed to ache, every cut was alive with fire and blood on him - and yet, this stallion thought he had done well?

Well would have been breaking your little lizard friend's neck, Grimalkin thought sourly, though he was ever the gentleman outwardly. Allowing himself several moments to gather his breath, to grit his teeth against the aches that decorated his body, the great chocolate behemoth nodded his crown to the other, and murmured with his low, gravelly tones and heavily accented words; "You too."

@Volterra
606 words
1/1 closing defence

colourize-stock & larfsalot @deviantart