Jaws clenched tighter than ever before, eyelids shut fiercely over gem-like irises, forelimbs tightened into a great wayward hunch, Pippigrin’s assault had somehow proceeded with impeccable accuracy. His butting tendril of horns had seemingly found their way to the near side of the Sultan in such a way that had left the mammoth staggering under the punch, a grunt filling the velveteen ears of the hobbit just as a similar sound left his own chops; “OOOFH!”
Although, one crucial element of his assault certainly did not come to fruition.

Angling the front plane of his wings upwards in an ineffable attempt to guide his flight up and out of his swoop, Pippin was caught off-guard by the grumbling jaws of his opponent. A scantily spoken gasp, one full of voice and worry, fell from the lips of the little warrior as his tail tucked and hooves outstretched in search for escape.
But alas; the critter was plucked from the air by the grounded behemoth, and it was far too late to swim up and out of this one. Perhaps it was merely his viridity at fault for such a miscalculation, and his technique was only something he could improve upon once his general naivety was diminished.

With the Sultan’s tushes gripping tightly upon his right wing’s upper radius, the less-than-half-sized stag was swung like a pendulum from the incisors of his king.
“AAAAAAAAAH!” The boy screeched for every moment he was airborne, his scream only ceasing once his stone-coloured hooves reached the dune below with a great thud, sand spraying under the impact like a splash of water.

“OUCH!” The aliferous hobbit growled towards Volterra, ears flattening momentarily as he fluttered his injured wing. Already he could feel the thick blood oozing over his feathers and seeking to stain his grey quills, though at least the Indomitable’s attack hadn’t crippled him. A bruised, toothy gash was what remained, and while at first the creature was convinced it was much worse, he soon realised after some gentle wingbeats that it really did not impair him too much. This was a fact that caused the boy to actually grin; he had survived an attack! And it wasn’t even that bad! He stood there under the jaws of the Sultan, blood trailing from his wing and he remained with his heart beating and his head up high.
Perhaps he really was destined for this!

Pepper-coloured ears switched forward to listen to the mammoths words of instruction and critique, though it was the first three words that the monarch spoke to him that really caught his attention and caused his heart to soar.
“That was good” Volterra had spoken, causing Pip to crane his head back and puff his chest with great pride, all the while doing his best to ignore the constant throbbing that was rising and falling from his bleeding wing.

Next came come words of advice about conserving his energy, words that easily made sense to Pippigrin given the attack sprung on him just moments before.
“Okay!” The hobbit whistled with a confident nod, glancing around momentarily to ponder his next attack. The little man could only assume that the Goliath would take it slow for training, so turning tail and marching up the sand dune, Pippin begun calculating his next attack.

Hoping to have the advantage of height once again by standing on the highest point of a near-by dune, the grey one allowed his wings to flare ever so slightly. The throb bothered him greatly, and for a moment he considered stopping to take a different approach that wouldn’t involve the use of his pennons, though he soon convinced himself that he was a warrior - such an injury wouldn’t affect the Sultan, and definitely not Mr. Gaucho!
Stepping forth down the sand hill, Pippin allowed his wings to their full span as he gathered speed down his descent, running down the sand dune with all the speed he could muster. Upon reaching the bottom he was met with slightly more level ground to which he could build speed in the direction of his opponent, and soon allowed his wings to lift his minuscule bodice upwards and off the ground. Waiting until he was in close proximity with the stag’s behind, Pippin aimed to glide across the ground and over the mammoth’s back, reaching down with his back leg and unleashing a great kick in an attempt to cause great injury to his opponents nearside hip or spine.