Sacre really should’ve learnt by now that taking pride in something before it had even happened was not always a good idea. Hope kindled in his brilliant blue eyes as they lit up in a surge of triumph at what he thought was his own cleverness, soon to be his stupidity that is, when his ill thought out plan backfired so spectacularly. He watched, the seconds feeling like entire minutes, as Toulouse dodged his sparkling trio of foxes he had so delightfully conjured, thinking that it was his route to an upper hand, rather than a rocky slope to his downfall. Alas, it was indeed a great downfall in disguise. Sacre had not the experience either to think of a backup plan should his first idea fail and so he hurtled, like a child with a toy sword, at the disgustingly snorting Spectre, who simply stepped out of his way as if he was nothing but a nuisance. His opponents chiding did little to ease his annoyance as he slammed his cloven feet into the ground, making small ditches in the undergrowth as he skidded to a halt, heaving in a shocked and shaky breath. This evening not exactly being the peaceful one he had planned was a large understatement. Which was further proven by the now approaching Spectre, his calculated steps pounding ever closer as Sacre’s mind scrambled for any shred of an idea that wasn’t simply running away, his feet slipping in the mud dents he had just created earlier until Toulouse was upon him with the snap of a snake bite.

The Doctor’s skin prickled with revulsion as the reptile’s jaw suddenly sprung out hideously and his heart leapt in horror, spurring him quickly forwards into a fearful run, but not quick enough that he dodged the deadly fangs that sought his retreating hind. They sank sickeningly into his flesh sending a harsh sensation through his limbs, forcing his pace back into a slow walk before he sank towards the ground, managing to lean his side into one of the trees in the dark forest, propping up his almost lifeless seeming body. The fox-boy’s eyes however, stared at Toulouse with a wild kind of horror as he tried to fathom out if, in the past, he had ever slighted the spy. Even if this was a spar between two herd mates, fighting to improve their skills (or lack of, in Sacre’s case), wasn’t he going a bit too far? Yet, the pale unicorn didn’t seem to look upon him with any kind of hatred, more rather, with a vulgar amusement.

This alone was enough to send another shuddering fright through his body as he looked up at the spy with dread in his face—he couldn’t even grasp why Toulouse might possibly find this enjoyable. The seconds ticked, the paralysis didn’t last very long, but in battle terms it was long enough that Sacre hadn’t gained enough mobility back to completely move his naked hock from the onslaught of his viscous opponent. He winced at his grogginess as he helplessly struggled to move his leg, raising it slightly off the ground with effort, enough that it wasn’t crushed into dust, but not quite enough to miss another wave of pain that pulsed from his now bruised hock as Toulouse came into contact with him. For a moment, all Sacre could feel was the consistent throbbing of pain pulsing from his body that had been battered and wounded, his backside being the worst of all the areas, considering it was bruised, cut and bitten. At least he still had his bones intact… so far.

However, the moment for wallowing over his new injuries would have to come after, lest he add to the stellar collection, and he grimaced, setting his lips into a grim line, letting the discomfort he felt fuel his anger. He hoped Toulouse was still nearby, in his desire to crush the gentle Doctor’s hock perhaps he had left himself open, after his last attempt to attack Sacre wasn’t sure if this was a good idea either, but his situation had rapidly become worse. As the paralysis slipped away and the use of his body gradually returned, Sacre swung his head in an angered slice, trying to find a gap in the spy’s armour where his horn might cut across his skin and wound him enough for the Doctor to have a moment to heave himself back up, rather than slumped on a tree. 

With his striking blue eyes glazed with pain and anger, he awkwardly bounded forwards, hampered by his hock, as he tried to barge into the shoulder of Toulouse in an attempt to knock him off balance and give himself some room to manoeuvre.

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2/3 | 791 words

Summary: Sacre is silly and thinks he has the upper hand, is caught off guard and paralysed by the snake as he tries to run, eventually slumping into a tree. He manages to move his hock enough that it isn't smashed to smithereens, but bruises it before trying to slice Toulouse with his horn again and attempting to barge into his shoulder, hoping to knock him off balance.

Damage: Cut on his flank into his thigh area (left), some slight bruising on his general backside (right), a small bite on his rump and a bruised hock.

Magic Use:  None.