His teeth find feathers, and their texture is entirely foreign to him as they slip into his mouth. He's never actually bitten the wing of a pegasus before, and there's something unnerving about the ticklish feel of feathers against his gums, accompanied with the knowledge that these odd, lightweight things have the ability to defy gravity itself by lifting a fully-grown horse into the air. Sinking his teeth into one feels unnatural, as though he's attempting to take something intrinsic away from the wing's owner.

The titan can't help the spasm of guilt as Pippigrin crashes to the ground with an ungodly yowl, and again he's forced to debate the ethics of this fight. Is it really fair to take out his strength on such a poorly-matched opponent? His throbbing shoulder goes some way towards numbing this pang of conscience, and he reminds himself that the miniature warrior had asked to be taught. Volterra realised from an early age that you can't learn if your opponent handles you with kid gloves on; until you take a few painful blows to your body and ego alike, you have no reason to train to avoid said blows.

Pippigrin's expression turns back into a grin, and Volterra raises a somewhat bemused eyebrow. Is the little fellow actually happy to have received a bona fide battle wound of his very own? He also seems pleased as punch at the Indomitable's compliment, and the onyx colossus realises that he'll probably educate the pony more through kindness than harshness here. The lad seems to idolise him, and a few words of support will go further than whole sentences of scolding. That isn't Volterra's natural teaching technique - he's stern, firm, but fair - yet if it helps Pippigrin then he's honour bound to try.

The warlord braces himself for another attack, expecting the pony to use his current positioning to aim a bite at his larger opponent, but he doesn't. Instead he wanders away up a sand dune, leaving Volterra to smother an eyeroll of utter disbelief and disapproval. "What are you doing?" he can't help but splutter, momentarily forgetting his vow to train the tiny warrior with honey rather than vinegar. "Too slow, Pippigrin! Battles are quick things, and a true warlord is built upon his ability to make split-second decisions and judgements. Once you've engaged your opponent you need to stay close to them, as now you no longer have the element of surprise, you're only going to give them time to plan how to avoid you if you begin your attacks from further away."

Sure enough, he's able to see Pippigrin as he charges from the sand dune, approaching from behind. The leviathan has ample time to turn, preparing himself for the inevitable - part of him wants to inflate the lad's ego by letting him land another heavy blow, but he's determined to teach the pony the consequences of his actions. Narrowing his crimson gaze onto the tiny figure, Volterra waits for the optimum moment and then ducks. Pip's hooves soar over his head without causing any damage, and suddenly the behemoth launches himself sharply upwards in a half-rear - his teeth seek the pony's tail as it whizzes overhead, attempting to grab the end of it and pull his opponent down to the ground again. If he's successful, he won't try to slam the tiny warrior into the floor with great force - rather, he'll try to drag him towards the sand at a soft enough angle that the little fellow hopefully won't break anything on impact.

Reminding himself that he still needs to educate his foe, the behemoth speaks again. "Stay close to me this time, Pippigrin, and try to attack in a way that I'm not expecting. You've gone for my top section twice now, so in a real battle I'd be expecting you to do the same again. Call my bluff and try something different. You can do this, I know you can." There's as much kindness in his voice as he can possibly muster, and it's infused with a determination and belief that he hopes will rub off on the little warrior. The mammoth's flesh glows with a slight sheen of sweat, although because he hasn't moved much during this fight, he's managed to largely escape exhausting himself too much. The wound to his left side throbs, but it's not unbearable - he's determined to see this battle through to the end, especially now it seems that they have a foal-sized audience.

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Spar for @Pippigrin !

Set in the Dragon's Throat on a hot Tallsun day, late afternoon.

2/3 - 749 words