"I know it hurts," he tries to sympathize, lamely smudging clay across the unknown filly’s coat when he can manage to get his aim right, considering how she won’t stop moving, "but you need to try and stay still?"

Whether his imploration helps or not, his mouth is full of clay regardless, and other matters swiftly besiege his thoughts.

"What the – ow! Ow! Hey!" Dragomir is soon shouting, as the ants move from Esinakh, onto him. Though he’d deftly and adamantly tried to cover her in clay up until this point, he is now fully aware of why the filly is having such a struggle remaining still; it hurts like hell! Not prone to swearing, especially in front of children, and ladies, the stallion internalizes all the vile curses he wishes to dispel on the vindictive clamps latched onto his face, but also discontinues his attempted salvation of the ant bedecked foal. He’s also so preoccupied with trying to rub them off onto his clay dirtied forelimbs to notice that the attack of the ants has stopped.

His clumsy hooves have knocked over his horribly crafted bucket in the process of his pained stumbles, spilling a slow-motion wave of clay across the earth. Regardless, he dips his nose down and up, covering his own legs, now, and smearing the mud all over his face, instead of Esinakh.

He’s quite surprised, then, when the first icy bullet penetrates into his skin. Bucking upwards and to the side in an ungainly motion of satchels, and poorly toned, lazy crafter’s sinew, the tricolored stallion balks away from the painful pinprick only to find another, and another striking him from afar. Looking wild eyed about him for the source, the clay christened stallion discovers the hovering ant queen with fear evident across every pore of his face.

Hasn’t today been bad enough?!

Quickly siding with the warrior and his flaming, stone dragon, and the pale, slender fellow (recognizable, possibly from the Edge, or the Falls, Dragomir does not know for certain; he’s certainly not sociable enough to know more than his face is familiar, after all), the introverted stallion decides assaulting the insect is a good option.

Where were the spiders, that all of this was for? He thinks, disgruntled with the entire situation, growing increasingly more frustrated and angry with each strike of the bug’s magic bullets, until, at last, he holds back his anger no longer, and surges forward. The tall, awkward stallion thunders towards the insect in a graceless charge, his ears pinned. Though he rarely relinquishes the control he has over his father’s inherited rage, and brute strength, he does so now, mostly out of pure frustration. Even the cries of the children and the continued stings of the flying ant’s chilly arsenal don’t penetrate the roar of his internalized aggression once its wings have been allowed to unfurl, and though he is not a tempered weapon, like the tall black assaulting the insect queen, he is a son of the Steadfast.

Prepare to die, bug queen, beneath hooves or ivory!

[ OOC: Tries to bite/stomp ze bug to death with Toulouse and Volterra. ]

No prior refusals.
Earth Magic: Can generate leather from genetic information stored in bone.
[ Restrictions: Crafting magic. 1 large, 2 medium, 2 small per season. Bone must still have marrow material (doesn't work on bleached/dinosaur/old bones or fossils, ect). Destroys the bone in the process. ]