Яikyn

Sweat slakes down my sides, stings the open wound on the back of my ankles, and strikes the hot stone beneath us before it is almost immediately evaporated. I wish it would do the same on me, the dust riddled air growing in heat the longer we dance, and like a siren, the temptation of the cool air in the side caverns so nearby almost overwhelms my sense to fight. Between where to put my hooves and chasing the sweet lure of cold air away from me, I do not notice the cruel, cackling face of the fox, playing his shadow games, and I do not notice the emotional toll all of it seems to take on my blade brother. All I notice, as I hunker back down my attention using the sound of Erebos’ snort as a guide, is the thrilling song of my heart, and how it fills me with a sort of powerful, controlled peace that a boy could only dream of.

Our eyes meet in the charge; the deep, midnight oceans I’ve come to know as friendship are almost black in the dim, ruddy light. There has always been sadness in his eyes, sadness that I think belongs to Huyana, and, now, Arwen. I do not think of his lost ones so much as I know, and expect, this depth of heaviness to my friend, his somber evening to Aithniel’s brilliant morning having shaped the conundrum that is me, the remnant afternoon. It blinds me to his apology as he runs towards me; as his blade lowers for use, my own golden rapier tilts for blood, my cloven step clattering on the tremulous earth.

Yes! laugh my eyes as a grin parts my lips, like true warriors!

As we come together, his blade reaches towards my left; instinctively, my body pulls away to the right. Compensating, I lift my front hooves off the dark stone, curving my neck and shoulders towards his passing figure in a hope to strike the tip of my horn along his right side. It’s a good counter move, and even if it misses, I’m proud of myself for having thought of it, feeling a smirk rise to my lips as I kick out my undamaged leg for the hell of it. Relishing the relief of pressure on my damaged ankle, I’m satisfied (and surprised) to notice that Erebos’ blade misses its mark, finally piecing together his lack luster blows and brooding looks in the proper equation.

Is he not having fun?

Or…

Is he afraid to hurt me?

I almost roll my eyes as I come back down to earth, wondering why he’d bothered to accept the fight if he was just going to let me win. It’s frustrating, because I know how much can be learned from an opponent who knows you well, who can figure how you’ll react, just how to stir your temper… that he possibly hasn’t even been trying makes me want to yell at him, despite having been laughing only moments before. If he can’t fight me, how was he supposed to be able to fight for our empire? Sometimes, people you care about get in your way, and you have to put them down. An ugly truth, but one I’d been told of early on, one I’d expected.

Maybe mother wasn’t such a shit parent, after all.

Swinging my ass about in a youthful tantrum towards the left, I grit my teeth against the pain of my minimal bruises and nicks, and kick out at the Reaper’s son with all my hard feelings about having been short handed in this fight by a man’s womanly sentiment. Part of me hopes it hits him right in his stupid, girly side, but another really hopes he’s well out of reach, because I’ve just thrown every ounce of strength I have into an impulsive assault; even if I am really upset with him, I think I’d be more upset with myself if I hurt him badly.

I guess it’s that thought that calms me down enough to not immediately shout at him as I pull away from him. My ears are pinned in a grumpy, boyish fashion as I turn back around to face him.

"Are you even trying?" are the words I settle on with an irritated swish of my slender tail; the question is accusing, despite not being said at anything louder than a normal speaking voice, and the radiant echo about the cavern comes across as more mocking than I’d meant it to. Something softens in my face in exasperation of never being able to say anything right, a hoof slamming into the ground in frustration. "We’ll never be Kings of anything at this rate."

3/3 : 792 words
[ OOC: Thank you so much Heather for the really helpful notes and the always wonderful interaction between our Basin Brat Princes. <3 ]

in every heart a hole