Whatever the word is that comes out of her mouth, he's pretty sure it's bad. A satisfied growl bursts free from his jaws as his hoof collides with her face and rips one of the fins that sit there, and his structure beneath her foot seems to confuse her as well. He swiftly bids it to crumble, its purpose complete.

Then, he sees her horn, glimmering like a great dagger on her head. He realises how compromising his position is, how that wicked barb could slice into his tender undersides and spill his steaming innards out onto the shiny sand, how she could carve him open like prey...

His heartbeat seems to increase tenfold, and he watches the scene almost from outside his body with an impassioned, half-interested eye. This will hurt.

But no. He will not simply stand and allow himself to be ravaged by the fish-mare; a great warrior like him does not submit to the inevitable! He fights until the end, rages against the dying of the light, kicks and screams and rises victorious against all odds. With a savage stallion's roar, the behemoth bunches the fearsome muscles of his hindquarters and throws his body into reverse. He begins to lower his almighty bulk downwards, and this saves him from having his underbelly ripped open by the mare's horn; instead, her curved weapon cuts into his lower chest, the gap between his forelegs. It creates a long, thin gash that spurts blood onto the glimmering sand below, and the pain is exquisite, bidding the brute to lace his ears into his mane and roar his fury. But it is infinitely preferable to having his entire underside ripped asunder, and he thanks the Gods for that small mercy.

He would be a fool not to take advantage of his current position, however, and as he descends he kicks out with his forelegs again. This time, he aims to crush his massive hooves downwards onto her shoulders, to try and make her front end buckle down towards the ground. Again, he leads more with his right than his left, as his left is still throbbing from her previous attack; he still uses it, but puts less force behind it than he does with his right. With his formidable weight, coupled with his downwards motion, he hopes he can bring her to her knees.

Despite the pain, he still feels a delightful thrill at the path this battle has taken. She is a fierce, unique opponent, one who is certainly quite capable of landing a solid blow to his body and ego alike. Woman she might be, but a pushover she is not. In addition, fighting in the flat expanse of this peculiar landscape has helped improve his general knowledge of the battlefield, and whatever the result he thinks he will take quite a lot from this particular clash. He learns from any fight he partakes in, win or lose; this is the only way he will improve and rise to claim the throne he knows he deserves.

But he is not done just yet. His dragons forbid it.

Simultaneously to Volterra's attack, Vérzés begins to descend. Vadir remains where she is, thinking her brothers have it covered; she is content to watch, and observe her mind-partners at work. She is young, and still getting to know the men she is bonded to. She is a queen, after all, and possesses all the refinement of one; where Vérzés and Volterra throw themselves headlong into any task, she is more careful, more controlled, more calculating. Where they live off their emotions and instincts, she lives off her sharp, sharp mind and the dark machinations that lurk within.

The red swoops low, advancing on the mare like a crimson bullet; he aims to approach from behind, his eyes locked on her tail. Hopefully without giving any warning of his presence, the dragon attempts to wrap his jaws around the part of Aquila's tail just below the deadly barbed tip. At Volterra's command, he does not aim to snap his target completely - the stallion forbids this, as it is just a spar and she does not deserve such a brutal punishment - but he does aim to crush it quite considerably between his hooked fangs.

After all, woman she may be, but Volterra and his dragons all want to defeat her. They are built for war, for victory, and the primal emotions that ripple through the stallion drive him to crush all foes placed in his path - even mares. Asserting his authority over them ensures they know that it is his right to bed them, and who is to say this queer fish-mare won't fall victim to his rogueish charms and the fierce strength of his body?

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Teaching spar for @Aquila!

Great fight smitty! <3

3/3 - 797 words